Hermione Sue and the Prisoner of A Cuaron
by Delylah
Summary: A parody of the Movie Version of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, written by two less than pleased fans. Read all about SupHermione! and her adventures.
1. Chapter 1

Hermione Sue and the Prisoner of A. Cuaron

By: Trystym and Delylah

Rating: PG-13 (mild sexual references, a bit of language here and there, but no "f"word yet)

Summary/Author's Notes: This is a parody of the movie version of HP and the Prisoner of Azkaban. We don't own these characters or situations. Furthermore, we have borrowed bits of dialogue and situations from other places too, such as Star Wars, Shakespeare, Moonlighting, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and possibly a few others. We have taken one or two digs at J.K. Rowling's story, too, all in the name of humor. We love her and the world she created for us (and find it infinitely preferable to Cuaron's.)

Harry Potter lay in bed playing with his wand. No, not that wand. The other wand. He missed his friends, particularly his friend Hermione Granger, the cleverest witch of her age. Summers were dreadful. He never seemed to know quite what to do with himself when he wasn't playing with his wand. He was a bit put out because Aunt Marge was coming to visit the next day. He hated Aunt Marge.

_If only Hermione were here. She'd know what to do about Aunt Marge,_ Harry thought.

Unfortunately, without Hermione's guiding influence, Harry wound up blowing up his Aunt. He found himself on the street the next evening, sitting on the curb alone, wondering what he should do next.

"What would Hermione do?" he wondered.

Suddenly, the playground equipment began to move of its own accord in an ominous and vaguely threatening manner. Harry suddenly felt more confident. He had been in many similar situations with Hermione. It was obviously time to panic. He began breathing heavily and whimpering (because, of course, Ron had frequently been along for the ride in these situations, too). Lacking the ability to show any further emotion convincingly, he quickly whipped out his invisibility cloak and hid beneath it, thus completely missing the mangy, half-starved, not-very-large dog in the bushes. The dog shrugged and bounded away.

When Harry felt he had whimpered long enough, he decided it was time to advance the plot. He stood up and fell backwards over his luggage. Nothing happened. Scratching his head, he looked skyward to find an origami crane spiraling gracefully down towards him. It read:

_You forgot to stick out your wand._

Love from,   
Hermione

Harry unzipped his pants. Another crane appeared, this one squawking and flapping in his face. It unfolded itself and howled in a booming voice:

_NOT THAT WAND, STUPID! THE OTHER WAND!_

"Oh," Harry muttered. "Well, I forgot to visit the loo before I left anyway."

When Harry finished his, _ahem_, business, he drew the proper wand out of his pocket and held it out. With a loud BANG, the Knight Bus appeared. The door slid open, and Harry was surprised and somewhat baffled to see a Shrunken Talking Head with dreadlocks, singing.

"Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down, letting the days go by, water flowing underground," it sang. Then it noticed Harry. "Welcome to the islands, I mean, the Knight Bus, mon. Hop on board!"

"But...what happened to Stan?" Harry asked. "I thought he was supposed to be the conductor."

"Budget cuts mon," the Shrunken Talking Head said in a terrible Jamaican accent. "His salary went towards the grasping corporate monster also known as Industrial Light and Magic. Most of the real people have been replaced with CGI characters. Lucas is trying to fund the next Star Wars film, you know. I've been promised a bit part as Jar-Jar Binks's long lost cousin. Now get on, mon. We ain't got all dey."

Harry tossed his suitcase onto the Knight Bus. After being slammed around several times and experiencing molecular compression at the quantum level, they arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, where Harry was greeted by the Hunch Back of Notre Dame.

"Good to see you again, Harry, good to see you," the Hunch Back said.

Harry looked around and wondered if he had somehow wandered into the wrong book. "Um, excuse me, but Joanne didn't mention the Leaky Cauldron had changed owners."

"Harry, don't know you me?" the Hunch Back asked.

Harry squinted at him. "Tom, is that you? What happened?"

"I accidentally served Alfonso tea with cream and no sugar instead of tea with sugar and no cream. In return, I lost 30 IQ points and gained a hump." "Be careful, Harry. I fear you're in grave danger. Now come along. Minister Fudge is waiting."

Harry followed "Tom" up the stairs. They paused outside a great wooden door. Harry could hear muffled voices from inside, arguing.

"No, no, no. No lime green in my movie! It's not artistic--it's too damn cheery! It ruins the ambience. Take that costume away and bring me something in a nice, depressing charcoal."

Harry looked at Tom, whose arms were folded across his chest.

"Aren't we going inside?" Harry asked.

"Just a minute."

Finally a loud buzzer sounded on the other side of the door. Tom promptly opened it and ushered Harry inside, where they found Minister Fudge wearing a somber, grey pinstriped suit.

"Harry, you'll be glad to know the Oompa Loompas located your Aunt Marge and rolled her to the pressing room. She'll have no memory of her ordeal, only a few stretch marks, but on a woman of her stature, who would notice a few extra?" the Minister said cheerily.

Tom stood in the background, loudly cracking nuts that nobody was going to eat. When Harry glanced over, Tom shrugged. "I don't know why. It was in the script," he said by way of explanation.

Harry shrugged, and looked back at Minister Fudge. "Minister, aren't I going to be punished?"

"Ordinarily, Harry, you would have been sent to Azkaban, but we simply don't have time. It's almost time for Hermione's grand entrance. Now, follow Tom upstairs. You'll be staying overnight."

"But what then?" Harry asked. "There's two weeks until school starts again, and I just can't go back to the Dursley's. Plus, I still need to purchase my school things."

"Harry, don't be silly. Your books are waiting for you in your room, and I've arranged for school to begin day after tomorrow."

"How'd you manage that?" Harry asked.

"The same way I arrange for September First to fall on a Monday every year. It's best not to question these things, Harry. The less you know about such things, the better. Now run along." The minister shooed him away.

Harry followed Tom up the stairs. After wrestling with a huge, hairy book that resembled a tarantula with fangs, he fell immediately asleep. He was awakened the next morning by a loud clatter. He turned over to find that Hedwig had smashed through the window, carrying in her claws a large birdcage, the door of which had obviously been gnawed open. Harry smacked himself upside the head.

"Hedwig! I completely forgot I left you locked in your cage at the Dursleys'! Clever girl."

Hedwig whapped Harry upside the head with the birdcage, knocking him out cold. When he came to, he found her chasing an origami crane about the room and screeching madly. Finally, she snapped her beak upon the unfortunate piece of paper and carried it to Harry.

"Thanks, girl. And I'm really sorry."

Hedwig flew to her perch, turned her back on Harry and began preening her feathers. Harry unfolded the origami crane. It read:

_Harry,_

You're going to be late for my grand entrance! Hurry up and get downstairs!

Love from,   
Hermione

PS Make sure to brush your teeth, wear your green checked shirt, and for Pete's sake, comb your hair.   
Harry quickly dressed and groomed himself as Hermione instructed, and then he walked downstairs.

_Wow, it sure is bright in here,_ he thought. _Guess Tom's been redecorating._

Suddenly, all of the patrons of the Leaky Cauldron halted their activities and gathered at the back of the room facing the door. Harry paused on the stairs, wondering what was up. Slowly, the door opened to reveal Hermione Granger in all her perfectly coiffed glory. Around the pub, the patrons began clapping softly. Hermione took several bows, beaming brightly, then reached behind her and picked up the second ugliest cat in the world.

"Hermione," Harry said, "where did you get this...thing?"

Ron Weasley stepped out of the crowd of applauding patrons. Harry hadn't even noticed he was present.

"That is Hermione's new, highly intelligent and butt-ugly cat, Crookshanks. It seems to have taken an immediate dislike to poor Scabbers," Ron moaned miserably.

Ron would have said more, but Hermione interrupted.

"Ronald, Crookshanks likes Scabbers just fine, especially sautéed with a little garlic. He's a cat. They eat rats, it's their nature. Besides, Crookshanks would probably be doing you a favor taking that decrepit old rat off your hands. I've always thought there was something decidedly odd about it."

Hermione continued to babble. Harry, after wondering briefly when Hermione began calling their best friend "Ronald", tuned her out completely and began wandering around the pub greeting the rest of the Weasleys. Percy stuck out a hand for Harry to shake.

"'All right there, Percy?" Harry asked.

Percy held up a note card. It read:

_Hi, Harry. I'm Head Boy this year. I'd love to tell you all about it, but my lines have been deleted in order to devote more screen time to Hermione. You shan't see me again, except for approximately thirty seconds outside the Gryffindor common room three months from now during a crisis that Hermione is obviously too busy to manage._

Percy beamed at Harry, who shrugged and moved on. He thought he caught a glimpse of Ginny, blushing madly and hiding behind a stone column. The twins passed a piece of news-parchment towards Harry, but it was time for Hermione to speak again so he didn't have time to read it.

Hermione was nudging Mr. Weasley forward.

"Go on, tell him," she whispered.

"Well, if you're certain, Hermione," Mr. Weasley hedged, also whispering.

"Of course I'm certain. I'm the cleverest witch of my age. Besides, it's time to advance the plot."

"Very well." Mr. Weasley turned towards Harry and spoke in a normal tone. "Harry, come with me. There's something I must tell you."

Harry followed Mr. Weasley into a secluded corner of the Leaky Cauldron.

"Harry, you must promise me you won't go looking for Sirius Black."

"Who?" Harry asked.

"Sirius Black, the murderer who escaped from Azkaban Prison. He wants to kill you."

"But what about Voldemort?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"Oh, he's on vacation in Tortuga. He'll be back in the next book," Mr. Weasley assured him.

"Oh. But who is Sirius Black, and why does he want to kill me?" Harry wondered.

"Those kinds of details aren't important, Harry. Alfonso and Steve decided there wasn't enough room for that much dialogue. Besides, they couldn't figure out a way for Hermione to be the one to tell you. After all, she's a muggle-born and she's only thirteen. She doesn't know bollocks about Sirius Black."

"Oh. Ok." Harry shrugged and went about his business. He took a seat on the bench at the table with everyone else to await further instructions from Hermione. The next thing he knew, they were on the Hogwarts Express, wandering along the corridor in search of a compartment.

"How did we get here?" he asked.

"Dunno," Ron replied. "I don't have any lines until a few minutes from now, when it's time to be comically frightened." He fell silent and followed Hermione obediently.

"Scene transition, Harry," Hermione replied. "Oh, there's some really cute ones later on with the Whomping Willow. You know, Alfonso does seem to have an unusual fixation with that tree, not to mention an inexplicable vendetta against blue birds."

Hermione led them to the last available compartment, which was occupied by a sleeping stranger. Harry looked around behind them.

"Where is Ginny? And Neville?" he asked. "Shouldn't they sit with us?"

"Hermione can only share a scene with a maximum of three other persons," Ron whispered to Harry. "It's in her contract."

Harry briefly appeared puzzled. "That's going to make attending classes rather difficult, isn't it?"

"Oh, don't worry," Ron said. "We have a grand total of five classes this entire year, and she only shows up halfway through each of them. We'll make do."

Hermione glared at Ron, who appeared chagrined and immediately fell silent once more, until Hermione elbowed him.

"Huh? Oh. Sorry. It's easy to miss your cues when all your dialogue has been given away." Ron cleared his throat. "I wonder who that mysterious looking bloke is?" he pondered aloud in a stage whisper.

"That is Professor R. J. Lupin," Hermione replied in a knowing tone.

"How do you know?" Harry asked.

"It's written on his traveling case," Hermione replied. "Furthermore, I've just about decided he's a werewolf."

"Why on earth would you think that?" Harry asked.

Ron muttered something under his breath that sounded like "reading ahead in the script."

Hermione ignored him. "His shabby robes, his grey pallor coupled with the fact that the full moon was last night, the mysterious scars across his face, and the faint hint of wolfsbane potion in the air," she said, sniffing lightly.

"Hermione, that's bloody brilliant!" Harry exclaimed, completely in awe of his friend's deductive powers. Ron snorted in disgust and started out the window as Harry continued. "What should we do about it?"

"We should wait until a pivotal moment in the plot, where I shall then reveal to him that I have known his secret all along and proceed to scream shrilly at him for having betrayed us all."

"Oh. If that's what you think is best, then," Harry said doubtfully.

"Trust me, Harry. I have it all figured out," Hermione assured him.

Just then, the train came to an abrupt halt, throwing Harry, Hermione and Ron to the floor in a great heap.

"Well this has all the makings of good trio-smut," Ron joked, leering at Hermione. She smacked him on the arm as she disentangled herself from the two boys.

"I am NOT that kind of girl," she chided him.

"That's what YOU think," Ron replied.

Surprisingly, Professor R.J. Lupin was still sound asleep. In fact, he didn't seem to have been disturbed by the sudden jolt in the slightest. Harry poked him once to be sure he wasn't actually dead. Then the lights went out.

"What's happening?" Harry asked. He heard muffled smacking noises coming from the bench across from him.

"Mmmf, no Ron, that's my foot. Aim a little higher."

More smacking noises.

"Hermione, can't you wear a front-clasp once in a while?" Ron complained.

"Hey!" Harry cried. "None of that, now! We're only thirteen!"

In the darkness, Harry could barely see the two figures across from him separating.

"Sorry," Hermione said sheepishly. "Just got a bit carried away, there." She elbowed Ron again.

"Huh? Oh. Um...." Ron paused, produced a thick sheaf of parchment from thin air and consulted it briefly. "Leaky Cauldron...no, ah, here it is." Ron tucked the parchment away, then placed his hand against the window and stared out of it with a terrified expression. "There's something m-m-moving out there," he announced in a quavering voice.

"Oh, Ronald!" Hermione cried, clutching at Ron's arm and jumping into his lap. Ron rolled his eyes, then dutifully held Hermione to keep her from sliding to the floor.

Harry began shivering. "Who turned on the air conditioning?" he asked.

Professor R.J. Lupin was still sound asleep. As the children watched, ice began forming over the window. Then a shadow appeared at the door to the compartment, and a bony, arthritic looking hand slid back the doorway. A great, scary looking Thing draped in a tattered black sheet (which resembled a ghost costume Harry had worn for Halloween when he was six) came strolling in.

"We're looking for Sirius Black," the Thing wheezed.

"He's not here. Go away!" Hermione shouted.

The Thing shrugged and looked at Harry. "Eh. You've got messy, black hair. You'll do."

The Thing pulled a hose out of it's robes, flipped a switch at the end and loomed ominously over Harry, holding the hose over Harry's mouth. Harry felt a great vacuum pulling the air out of his lungs.

"What do I do?" he screamed at Hermione. Though the words were muffled by the hose, Hermione had no trouble understanding him.

"Can you hear anything, Harry?" Hermione asked.

Harry listened carefully. From a great distance, he thought he detected a woman screaming. He nodded frantically at Hermione.

"Is it your mum?" Hermione asked excitedly.

Harry batted the hose away and looked at Hermione in exasperation. "Hermione, my mum's dead. Has been for years. How the hell would I know what she sounds like?"

"Search your heart, Harry. Those we love never really leave us," Hermione said in a heartfelt voice. Ron shot her a disgusted glance before cowering in fear once more.

Harry replaced the hose and listened again. Sure enough, Hermione was right, as usual. It was indeed his mum screaming; Harry had no trouble recognizing her voice even though she wasn't saying anything, and even though Harry had been only one year old when she had been murdered. He nodded at Hermione again.

"Well, what are you waiting for, Harry? Pass out!" Hermione commanded.

So he did.

When Harry came to, Ron, Hermione, and the professor (who had finally woken from his nap) were all watching him with expressions of deep concern.

"What was that thing?" he asked.

"That was one of the dementors of Azkaban," Hermione intoned dramatically.

The professor cleared his throat sharply, and Hermione glanced over at him. He shook his head at her, and Hermione snapped her mouth shut, blushing slightly.

"That was one of the dementors of Azkaban," Professor Lupin intoned dramatically. "Here, have a chocolate. It helps."

"Chocolate? It felt like that thing was trying to suck out my _soul_. How the ruddy hell is chocolate going to help with that?"

"I find chocolate is the universal cure for anything that ails you," Hermione said loftily. When Professor Lupin passed the candy bar to her, she snapped off a huge chunk, far more than her fair share. When her companions glared at her, she shrugged, as if to say, "So?"

Harry chomped on the chocolate, then asked with his mouthful. "How did we get away from the dementor?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Hermione talked it to death." He pointed to a shriveled, black heap in a corner, which appeared to be the remains of the dementor.

"Oh. Ok," Harry said, nodding. He had no problem believing that Hermione was fully capable of talking someone to death. She was, after all, the cleverest witch of her age and had been known to drone on and on about subjects that even Professor Dumbledore seemed to know nothing about.

Harry suddenly found himself in a carriage. It was pouring down rain, but through the storm he could make out a street sign that pointed one way to Hogwarts, and the other way to Hogsmeade. Harry had no recollection of ever hearing Hogsmeade being mentioned before. He wondered if it was a new housing development; they tend to spring up over night, after all. The next thing Harry knew, he was sitting at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. At the front of the room he could hear strains of beautiful music. When he leaned around Ron to get a better view, he saw Hermione alone at the front of the Hall, holding a toad, singing three-part harmony by herself, while the toad appeared to be carrying the baseline.

Ron did a double take. "How'd she get up there? She was just sitting here a moment ago!" he exclaimed.

"Beats me," Harry replied. "I didn't even know she could sing. In fact, I was almost certain she couldn't carry a tune in a bucket."

"And since when do we have music before the feast, anyway?" Ron complained. "I'm hungry. I've got bloody little else to do in this production. The least they could do is let me eat."

Percy turned and glared at them, holding his finger to his mouth. Ron rolled his eyes, but they listened to the rest of Hermione's recital quietly. When she finished, the room erupted in thunderous applause. Even the Slytherins were gazing raptly at the accomplished diva. Hermione bowed modestly, handed the toad to Professor Flitwick, then took her seat at the Gryffindor table.

Professor Dumbledore (at least, Harry thought it was Professor Dumbledore, his hair appeared to have changed from white to grey since Harry had seen him last) rose from his seat and shuffled up to a podium that practically hid the man from view.

"Where did that come from?" he whispered to Ron.

"The video game," Hermione whispered back before Ron could reply. "Don't you remember? In the Chamber of Secrets video game, that podium held the spell books you found."

"He looks ridiculous behind it," Harry mumbled. Hermione didn't seem to agree, so Harry said nothing further.

At the podium, Dumbledore was happily snuffing and re-lighting candles, and appeared to be talking to himself. After several moments, he seemed to become aware that the entire student body was staring at him expectantly.

"Oh. Good gracious, is it my turn? I was waiting for Hermione. Well, then, let's get started." He paused a moment and took a deep breath. "I've come to wiveth wealthily in Padua," he began.

Behind him, Professor McGonagall hissed to get his attention. "Psst, wrong script!" she whispered.

"What? Oh. Dear me." He scratched his head in confusion, and then started again. "Friends, Romans, country-men, lend me your ears."

Professor Snape shook his head and buried his face in his hands. "Wrong script," he muttered, loudly enough for at least half of the room to hear.

"Horsefeathers. I know I've got it written down here somewhere," Dumbledore mumbled as he rummaged around in his robes. "Ah, here it is." In one hand, he grasped a sheet of parchment. As the students looked on, he bent over and began fumbling about behind the podium. When he straightened, he was holding a weathered looking skull.

"Alas, poor Yorick, I knew him, Horatio!" Dumbledore's voice rang out triumphantly across the Great Hall.

To his utter astonishment, the entire student body called back in unison, "WRONG SCRIPT!"

"Oh, bloody hell!" Dumbledore said furiously. He looked behind him and called out, "Line, please!"

Professor Flitwick crawled under the table and scooted over to Dumbledore, who leaned down to listen as Flitwick whispered in his ear.

"Are you crackers? I would never say such a thing!" he exclaimed loudly.

Flitwick nodded and backed away. Dumbledore straightened and faced the students once again. "Nitwit, blubber, oddment, tweak?" he uttered in a timid voice.

The students looked around at each other, nodding and making noises of general assent.

"Wonderful. Now, I had some very touching remarks prepared about turning on lights in the dark, and warnings about dementors, but they weren't that important anyway, and I'm cutting into Hermione's screen time. I'm hungry. Let's eat."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: In today's installment, we owe apologies to BTvS (in particular to Seth Green, who apparently ad libbed the scene that I have borrowed) to Lord of the Rings, the TV show Dinosaurs, to Monty Python and the Quest for the Holy Grail, and to Billy Squire, all for bits and bobs that we've borrowed and inserted here and there. Oh, and Trys says the cute little cards with the comments in absence of spoken dialogue are a direct rip from WB's Loony Tunes. Anything that you recognize, I more than likely do not own and borrowed without permission or expectation of compensation in any form (other than reviews, which are always good).

Also, notes to a couple of reviewers:

To "Daniel Radcliffe" (please): I feel did just as good a job of parodying this movie as Alfonso Cuaron and Steve Kloves did of bringing JKR's book to the screen, and in particular, the character of Hermione.

To Alisama2: No, this is the first parody we've co-authored together, and I've never posted in the fandom under any other name. My only other parody is called Ship Wars, which is on hold until I finish this parody and my current 6th year fic, Harry Potter and the Deadly Deception.

And to everyone else, thanks for the lovely reviews! And if you would like to read other fics by Trystym (who is the funnier half of this duo), there is a link to his ff.net page in my bio.

* * *

Ron grinned widely and prepared to spear a chicken leg with his fork as Harry reached for the shepherd's pie. Before they could fill their plates, however, a nasal, whiny voice carried over to them from the next table.

"What is this place?"

Harry and Ron turned to look at each other with identical expressions of disbelief, then turned to look behind them. Draco Malfoy was seated directly across the aisle, along with Crabbe (or Goyle, Harry could never tell them apart) and another boy that neither Harry nor Ron recognized.

"How'd I get here?" Malfoy wondered aloud, gazing at the scenery around him. "Who are you?" he asked to the boy seated next to him. "For that matter, who the hell am I?"

"Not again," Ron muttered to himself. He reached into his robes and withdrew the same sheaf of parchment he had consulted on the train. As Harry looked on, Ron climbed over the bench and walloped Malfoy upside the head with the heavy roll of parchment.

"Ow!" the blonde boy whined. Then the foggy expression in his eyes cleared. "Thanks. I needed that."

As Harry watched, Malfoy's hair sprung free of its confining gel and fell into his eyes. His tidy school uniform morphed into a ripped pair of denim trousers and a skin-tight T-shirt bearing the logo "N-Sync" across the chest.

"Ron, what did you do?" Harry whispered. He began quivering, either in terror or in repressed desire, he couldn't be entirely certain which. All he knew was that strange things were afoot in the Great Hall.

"Instant transfer of essential knowledge through Osmosis. You'll find it comes in handy quite often this year," Ron whispered back.

His earlier confusion forgotten, Malfoy turned his trademark sneer upon Harry. However, when he spoke, Harry had to struggle not to laugh. For some reason, Malfoy seemed to be incapable of speaking without a distinct whinge.

"Is it true, Potter? Did you really faint? Did the evil, ickle sheet-covered balloons scare you?" Malfoy abruptly stopped speaking, and a strange look crossed his face. "NOOOO!" he screamed in a high-pitched voice that was not unlike Hermione's. "Crabbe! Goyle! You, new guy! Help me! They've turned me into a sniveling twit!"

Malfoy ran screaming from the room, followed by Crabbe, Goyle, the New Guy, and a simpering Pansy Parkinson. Harry and Ron nearly fell off the bench laughing. However, when they turned back to the table to resume their feast, they suddenly found themselves climbing up the staircase instead. Harry looked around wildly.

"What happened to the feast?" he asked, bewildered.

Ron looked around, too. "But...chicken, and mashed potatoes, and...DAMMIT, I'M STILL BLOODY STARVING! WHERE IS THAT MOTHER-EFFING CUARON? I WANT MY UNION REPRESENTATIVE!"

Harry tried desperately to quiet Ron down, to no avail. Suddenly, another origami crane fluttered down from above, and landed on Ron's shoulders, chirping. Ron, however, was still ranting at the top of his lungs and didn't notice, so Harry plucked the note from his shoulder, unfolded it and began to read aloud. Ron stopped ranting long enough to listen.

_Mr. Cuaron asked me to tell you that Gryffindor has been docked 50 points because of your outburst, Ronald. Only Harry is authorized for the use of caps-lock in this film. See you two in the morning._

_Love from, _

_Hermione_

An expression of fury crossed Ron's face. Without a word he grabbed the crane from Harry, wadded it up into a small ball and crammed the entire thing in his mouth at once. Once he had chewed and swallowed, he emitted a loud belch.

"Well, that's somewhat better. Now I'm only incredibly ravenous instead of bloody starving," he grumbled loudly.

"Don't worry, mate," two identical voices piped up from behind Ron and Harry. They turned to find Fred and George. "We're looking out for you, as usual."

Fred reached into his robes and brought forth a small box of animal crackers.

"One bite of these is enough to fill a growing boy's stomach," he said with a grin. "Plus, you can make nifty animal noises with all your best pals so the audience can squee madly over a brief moment of male-bonding that has nothing to do with the plot, but is nevertheless obviously far superior to anything that Joanne Rowling ever wrote."

"Says who?" Harry asked.

"Well, it must be. It made the cut when precious little that actually HAPPENED in the book did. After all, who wouldn't be charmed by a group of 13-year-old boys eating crackers? We figure there must be homosexual subtext in there somewhere...but damned if we can find it. Anyway, enjoy, little bro."

"Thanks." Ron started to tear into the box, but he stopped suddenly, and looked up at his older brothers suspiciously. "Where'd they come from?" he asked in a dubious voice.

"Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. They're a proto-type. We traveled forward in time to find them just for you two lucky blokes. By the way, Harry, did you hang on to that newspaper we gave you?"

"What newspaper?" Harry asked, confused.

"The one we gave you in the Leaky Cauldron that you glanced at for approximately three seconds. Really, you ought to go and find it. We didn't get our pictures in the paper for nothing, you know."

Harry's eyes suddenly widened. Noting Harry's terrified expression, the twins turned to find a huge, glowing portal opening behind them. They tried valiantly to escape, but with a wet, sucking _slurp, _they vanished into the gaping maw of the portal, which then closed with a snap.

"Aren't you supposed to be blubbering in terror right about now?" Harry said to Ron.

"Somehow, I just can't bring myself to care," Ron replied. "What's the hold up on the stairs? Move, you bloody prats! Has Neville forgotten the password again?"

"Of course not," Neville said in a pitiful tone behind them. "That would require my being important enough to speak more than a single word at a time."

"Oh, yeah. Sorry, mate," Ron replied. "What's the hold up, then?"

"Well, the scene's not over 'til the fat lady sings," Neville replied.

The three boys groaned in unison.

"Please, somebody just kill me now," Ron said. "It's only going to get worse from here on out."

Neville clapped him on the back. "Sorry, mate. We have to be here for Harry's sake. He still doesn't have a clue what's going on, you know?" Trevor croaked loudly, and Neville covered the toad's ears with his hands. "Oh, and let's not forget our main purpose here: comic relief."

"You mean that charity that Joanne contributes to?" Harry asked.

Neville sighed. "No, Harry."

"What, then? I don't understand."

"You're right, Neville. I know you're right." Ron shook his head sadly. "Poor Harry."

"What?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"No. It's best if you just don't know." Ron stared forlornly at his friend.

The boys waited patiently until the scene-stealing portrait shattered a glass and finally opened to let them pass through to the common room. They trudged up the staircase and got ready for bed. When Harry's stomach growled loudly, Ron threw him the box of animal crackers Fred and George had given him.

"Here. Eat up.

Harry took a cracker and passed the box around to his roommates. Just as he started to chomp his teakettle-shaped cracker, Seamus began dancing his monkey cracker around in the air.

"Oh look! Monkey. And he has a little hat...and little pants," Seamus said.

"Yeah, I see," Harry replied, nodding.

"The monkey's the only cookie animal that gets to wears clothes. You know that?"

Harry nodded. He was beginning to have serious doubts about Seamus's mental state, but Seamus didn't seem to notice. He continued chattering as if nothing was amiss.

"So I'm wondering, do the other cookie animals feel sorta ripped? Like is the hippo going, 'Hey, man. Where are my pants? I have my hippo dignity.' And you know the monkey's just, 'I mock you with my monkey pants!'" Seamus imitated the monkey's voice in a French accent.

"The monkey is French?" Harry asked, inching slowly away from Seamus.

"All monkeys are French. You didn't know that?" Seamus asked. Next to him, Dean began tugging on the sleeve of his pajamas. Seamus turned to look at Dean.

"What?" he said.

Dean held up a card. It read:

_WRONG FANDOM!_

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Seamus muttered. "Hey, at least if was funnier than a bunch of teenaged boys sitting around on their four-posters making animal noises."

As the boys finished eating their crackers, Harry noticed Ron wrapping the remaining crackers in large, green leaves.

"Ron, what are you doing?" Harry asked.

"Rationing them, Harry. I want to make certain we have enough for the school year. I've read the rest of the script. We don't get to eat anything again until we go to Honeydukes in Hogsmeade. Fortunately, Alfonso has mastered the art of the time warp so it really isn't that long from now." Ron yawned hugely. "Let's turn in."

Somehow, it seemed as if Harry's head had just barely hit his pillow when he found himself traipsing out to Hagrid's hut the next morning along with the third-year Gryffindor and Slytherin class for Hagrid's first Care of Magical Creatures lesson. Harry was surprised to see that Hagrid was covered in cuts and scratches, and his clothes were torn in several places.

"Hagrid? What happened to you?" he asked.

"T'weren't nuthin, Harry. I was up at the crack o' dawn this mornin'. Alfonso wanted the Whomping Willow moved...said it was spoiling the view outside his trailer. Then he wanted me ter move m' hut cuz the trees on the right side o' the castle didn't fit his artistic vision as well as the trees on the left side o' the castle. Bloody directors and their bloody egos."

"But Hagrid, you've got to admit, the camera angles are astounding, aren't they?" Hermione piped up from the crowd of students.

"Who gives a flying flip about ruddy camera angles when you're pants are too short? In case you haven't noticed, _Hermione, _none of my ruddy clothes fit!" Hagrid pointed down to his pants, which were a good three feet too short.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "That's what wardrobe's for, Hagrid. They'll have you suited up in no time."

"Already been there. I was informed that every last cent of the remaining costuming budget has been allocated to purchasing hip hugger pants and pink half-zip pullovers from Old Navy, and I'll just have to make do.

Hermione blushed and looked away. Hagrid scowled fiercely at her, then cleared his throat and addressed the rest of the class.

"All of you open your books."

As one, the class glared at him, except for Neville, who, as usual, did as he was told. From the rear of the gathering, shredding sounds could be heard, paired with intermittent, muffled screams of "Get it off me! Get it off me!"

"Yer got to _stroke_ them," Hagrid explained patiently. He yanked the Monster Book of Monsters off of Neville's head, which the book had apparently been attempting to devour, and proceeded to stroke it. The book shivered orgasmically and fell open into his hand.

"OH, of course," Malfoy said sarcastically. "You have to STROKE them. Why didn't we think of that?"

Suddenly, an odd look came over Malfoy's face. He backed up several steps until he was even with Goyle and the New Guy. The three of them began dancing in unison with perfectly choreographed steps. The students gathered around in a circle as Malfoy began to sing while Goyle and the New Guy performed backup lyrics.

Malfoy: Grab your Monster books...said it ain't no joke  
If ya wanna read it...just do the stroke  
Don'cha take no chances...keep your eye on top...  
Do you fancy dances...you can't stop, you just stroke it, stroke it!  
New Guy and Goyle: Stroke, stroke!  
Malfoy: Stroke it, stroke it!  
New Guy and Goyle: Stroke, stroke!

Malfoy did a final twirl, and then landed on the ground in a half split. As quickly as it had begun, the performance was over. Malfoy picked himself up off the ground and dusted off his uniform. He looked around to find the rest of the class staring at him apprehensively, except for Pansy Parkinson, who had swooned into oblivion.

"What?" Malfoy demanded rudely, shaking his hair out of his eyes, which, unless Harry was mistaken, had lengthened a quarter of an inch during the performance.

Malfoy didn't seem to notice, nor did he seem to find anything unusual about breaking into song and dance during the middle of class. He grabbed his Monster Book of Monsters and looked at his cronies. "Goyle, Crabbe!" he began, but then noticed Crabbe was missing. "Where the hell is Crabbe? Oh, who cares. Here, you, New Guy. Stroke my book!" he demanded, thrusting the book at the as-yet-unnamed student, who began stroking it enthusiastically.

Meanwhile, a commotion had begun again towards the back of the group. Harry walked over to find that Neville's book was once again attacking him. Neville's clothes were in tatters, and he was slapping desperately at the book, which had taken a hold of his arm and refused to let go.

"You have to stroke it, Neville," Harry repeated.

"I did, but it just went beserk again!" Neville cried.

"Maybe you rubbed it the wrong way?" Harry ventured. He wrestled the book off of Neville's arm and stroked it for him until the book was docile.

"Thanks, Harry," Neville said gratefully.

Harry suddenly experienced an acute desire for, of all things, a cigarette, which was strange, because he had never smoked a day in his life. After a moment he shrugged and returned his attention to Hagrid.

"Today we're studying Hippogriffs. Can anyone tell me-"

Before Hagrid had a chance to finish his question, Hermione's hand shot into the air. She didn't bother to wait for him to call on her before speaking.

"Hippogriffs are half-griffin, half-horse, with the body of a horse and the head of an eagle. And they cost about a million and a half dollars a minute to put in this film," she said authoritatively.

Hagrid rolled his eyes. "Well, s'pose that does it for Hippogriffs. I'd give fifty points to Gryffindor, but we don't seem to be keeping track of points this year no how. Now, this here's Buckbeak," he said, indicating the very large, very realistic looking Hippogriff at the back of the paddock. "Who wants to be the first to come say hello?" he asked.

Buckbeak reared, so Hagrid threw it several small, dead animals, which it greedily gobbled up.

"What are you feeding that thing?" Malfoy asked, his usual sneer absent.

Hagrid turned and grinned. "Ferrets," he replied.

Malfoy turned greenish and muttered, "I think I'm going to be sick." He scampered off into the woods alone and returned a few moments later, pale and shaken. Harry could hear him whispering to Pansy.

"It keeps _looking_ at me. Do you see it?"

When Buckbeak was calm again, Hagrid led him back to the students. "Come on, don't be shy. Step on up!"

The entire class took a giant step backwards, with the exception of Harry, who had caught a glimpse of something pale and shimmering among the trees deeper in the forest. He started to mention it, but suddenly Hagrid was dragging him forward towards the Hippogriff.

"Wait, I didn't..." he began, but noticed the entire class looking at him expectantly. _It's about time I got to be the center of attention,_ he thought. Bravely, he stepped forward with Hagrid, who was explaining the proper procedure for approaching a Hippogriff.

Suddenly, Buckbeak reared again. Hermione reached over and grabbed Ron's hand, smiling shyly and winking at him as she caught his eye. Immediately, the rest of the class reached into their robes and pulled out yellow hardhats, donning them quickly as they looked skyward. Harry followed their gaze just in time to see a giant, black anvil falling from the sky. It landed directly in front of Ron and Hermione, which, unfortunately, was where the Slytherin New Guy had been standing. Somewhere off in the distance, Harry thought he heard someone shout, "Call the casting director! Looks like we're gonna need another Timmy!"

But he could have been mistaken. In any case, he followed Hagrid's instructions and bowed to Buckbeak, who bowed back. Harry was further rewarded by being allowed to stroke a large balloon tied to a stick in front of a gigantic blue screen. Then, without warning, Hagrid swooped him up and deposited him onto Buckbeak's shoulders.

"Have fun, Harry! Better enjoy the ride while you can, cause yeh sure won't be playing Quidditch much this year."

"Huh?" Harry asked, but Buckbeak had already leapt away from Hagrid into the sky, carrying Harry along with him. They flew over Hogwarts then over to the lake, where Buckbeak swooped low enough to dip one of his claws into the water, making it obvious to anyone who was watching that he was enjoying the heck out of himself.

Harry threw both arms back and felt the almost irresistible urge to scream "I'm the King of the World!" However, he quickly glanced down to the frigid, unfathomable depths below him, and thought better of it. Instead, he threw his arms back around Buckbeak's neck and held on tight until Buckbeak had landed and Harry's feet touched solid earth once more.

Malfoy looked supremely unimpressed with Harry's success.

"Anything Potty can do, I can do better," he announced as he strode confidently towards Buckbeak. He reached out a hand to the Hippogriff. "You're not dangerous at all, are you, you great, ugly CGI brute?"

Quick as lightning, Buckbeak slashed out with his enormous talons and caught Draco's arm, severing it between the shoulder and the elbow. The students gasped collectively. Malfoy jumped back, mildly alarmed. He seemed not to notice that most of his arm remained on the ground.

"What's the matter with you people?" he asked.

"Oh, my poor Draco, your arm!" Pansy moaned.

Malfoy looked down to see blood staining his robes, soaking through to the Backstreet Boys T-shirt he wore underneath."What? It's only a scratch."

"A scratch? Your arm's off!" Pansy shrieked hysterically.

Malfoy shook his head. "No it isn't."

Blood was spurting from the stump at regular intervals and pooling on the ground.

"Well, what's that, then?" she cried, pointing to his arm on the ground.

Malfoy's gaze followed to the spot she indicated. He shrugged. "I've had worse."

"Draco!" Pansy shrieked again.

"What? It's only a flesh-wound!" Malfoy insisted.

Next to Harry, Ron had been watching the exchange with an expression of amusement. He glanced over at Harry. "You know, I almost hate to do this, but the plot's lagging. We should have gotten to Defense Against the Dark Arts by now."

As Harry watched, Ron again withdrew the mysterious sheaf of parchment from his robes and calmly walked over to Malfoy.

"Believe me, mate, this is going to hurt me worse than it does you," he said apologetically.

"No, wait!" Malfoy protested, but he was too late. Ron hauled back and _thwapped_ him upside the head with the thick roll of parchment again. Malfoy's gaze clouded over as he looked down to where his arm lay on the ground in a pool of his blood. His screams split the air, and several of the students held their hands to their ears.

"Aaaah! I'm dying! Look at me, it's killed me!" he whimpered.

Hermione, who had been checking her makeup in a small mirror, stepped forward. "Hagrid, you DO know you need to take Malfoy to the hospital wing, don't you?" she announced.

"I'm so glad you're here to inform me of these things, Hermione. Why, I might've let him lay there and bleed to death if it weren't for you." Hagrid replied sarcastically.

He kneeled down and lifted Malfoy into his arms, then indicated the severed arm with a nod of his head. "Ron, grab that and bring it along, would you?"

Ron rolled his eyes but he walked over to the limb and picked it up by the thumb, holding it gingerly away from his body as he and Harry followed Hagrid. As they began walking towards the castle, Harry could hear Malfoy griping the entire way.

"You and your bloody chicken. I'll have you fired for this. My father is close personal friends with both the Minister of Magic AND Colonel Sanders!"


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I'm not certain who all we owe apologies to in this chapter. JK Rowling for certain, and I suppose WB, too. And South Park, for one teeny tiny little reference. There may be others, you can never be too sure. Also, you may have noticed that we inadvertently wrote about CoMC before we wrote about Trelawney's class. Our mistake. When we started the story last year, we were on the way home from Florida, and the book was packed away in the trunk. We couldn't quite remember the order of the classes. So, we've taken steps here to correct that error. Oh, and before you read on, just remember: Drugs are bad, m'kay?

By the way, this is the last chapter of this story I will be posting at I prefer to post my stories at fandom-specific archives. You can keep up with the rest of the story at and you can receive notification of updates of my stories by joining my Yahoo Group. The information is in my profile.

Ron and Harry dropped Malfoy's severed arm off at the Hospital wing, and, after getting an earful from Madame Pomfrey about having failed to brush the debris out of the severed end, began the long trek back to Gryffindor tower. As they climbed the grand staircase, a familiar looking crane came flapping towards them. Ron grumbled something under his breath about prima donnas before unfolding the note. It read:

_Harry and Ron,_

_You were supposed to be at Divination three hours ago! I'll meet you there after I finish helping Madam Pomfrey re-attach Draco's arm. I'm not certain she's up to date on the latest techniques at St. Mungo's. _

_You DO know that Divination is held in the top of the North Tower, don't you?_

_Love from, _

_Hermione_

"Oh, no!" Harry fretted. "We've missed our first divination class! I was so excited about Hagrid's class I completely forgot we have Divination first period."

Ron shook his head. "Don't worry about it, Harry. The editing crew can fix it during post-production. Let's just get it over with, all right? I think the North Tower is this way."

The boys began searching for the North Tower. After becoming hopelessly turned around, they noticed a sign posted up in an empty picture frame. It read:

_Due to certain decisions made in the name of "artistic license," the role of Sir Cadogan has been usurped by random horsemen carrying severed heads who shall endeavor to entertain you during meals in the Great Hall. Grievances may be addressed to where they shall be promptly **dealt** with._

_If you are trying to reach the North Tower, proceed as follows:_

_48 paces west_

_climb staircase_

_26 paces north_

_look up to ceiling_

_click heels together three times_

_say, "There's no place like Hogwarts."_

_climb rope ladder_

"Dealt with? That sounds vaguely threatening," Harry mused aloud.

"Around here, it's best not to ask too many questions," Ron advised, nodding sagely. "Let's just get to class. The last thing I want right now is another note from Hermione informing us we're late."

Harry and Ron found the rest of the divination class waiting for them. Ron clicked his heels three times and mumbled the password in a low voice.

"I feel like a right pouf," he complained.

And with good reason. Parvati and Lavender were snickering behind their hands, while Seamus and Dean were chortling openly. Fortunately, they were quickly distracted by the rope ladder that dropped down out of the ceiling. As the students climbed up into the tower, Professor Trelawney greeted them.

"Well, well, dears, better late than never. Everyone take a seat. Welcome to Divination, class. The first thing we will learn today is the importance of setting an atmosphere conducive to transporting your ethereal selves into the beyond."

As they watched, Professor Trelawney opened a small wooden box and retrieved what appeared to be a plastic baggie filled with a dull green, leafy substance that resembled some of the dried herbs Harry's Aunt Petunia kept in her kitchen but never used. The professor scooped up a generous handful and threw it onto the fire. A thick, fragrant smoke wafted across the room. Many of the students, including Harry, began to cough and sputter. Ron began sniffing the air in a none-too-subtle manner.

"Now, everyone take a deep, cleansing breath," Professor Trelawney instructed. "And be certain to hold it in as long as possible...more effective that way." She inhaled deeply.

Ron turned to Harry.

"Do you smell spaghetti sauce?" he whispered loudly.

Across the table, Hermione shushed him. Ron shot her a withering glance, and then did a double take.

"Where did you come from?" he demanded, still whispering.

"What do you mean?" Hermione whispered back. "I've been here the whole time."

Ron gave her an incredulous look. "You bloody well have not! Harry and I walked up the stairs alone, sat down at the table alone, and all of a sudden you pop in out of nowhere."

"Ron," Hermione said in a low, somewhat menacing voice, "I've been here the...entire...time. Now, pay attention."

Ron looked as if he wanted to argue but apparently thought better of it. His mouth closed in a thin line as he turned his attention back to Professor Trelawney. As Harry watched, Hermione's nostrils flared, and she began to sniff the air delicately. After a moment, she rolled her eyes and uttered a small _"tuh."_

At the front of the classroom, Professor Trelawney was still inhaling deeply through her nose and exhaling through her mouth after holding her breath as long as possible. Her eyes were closed, and an expression of bliss had settled across her face. She giggled softly as she opened her eyes and addressed the class again.

"There, now, isn't that lovely? Your minds may have a tendency to drift...that's all right; it's all part of opening your mind to the beyond. Broaden your minds, dears...broaden your minds."

Trelawney paused a moment and inhaled deeply again. She held her breath for so long that she began to turn quite red before she exhaled loudly again. The students looked at her expectantly.

"Now, what was I saying?" she mused aloud, and glanced around the room as if searching for a reminder. She then burst into a small fit of giggles as she collapsed onto an over-stuffed ottoman. When she had caught her breath, she cocked her head to one side and asked the students, "Who are you, again?"

A strange boy in the back of the room spoke up, and the class looked around in surprise, for none of them had ever seen before that moment.

"Um, we're your third-year divination class. Gryffindor," he explained tentatively.

"Who the bloody hell is that?" Ron whispered loudly.

"Ron, don't swear," Hermione said in a tired voice.

"I can't help it," Ron said. "It's in the script. Frequently. You-Know-Who seems to think it's funny."

"You-Know-Who?" Harry interrupted. "Why would Voldemort think it's funny when you swear?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"Not _that_You-Know-Who. The other one. He-who-must-not-be-named," Ron said, glancing around fearfully.

"Oh, stop, Ron," Hermione chided. "You'll just confuse him. I'll have to have a talk with Steve about the script after class. Honestly, the last thing we should be doing is contributing to the corruption of today's impressionable youth. There are children in the audience, for heaven's sake."

"That didn't seem to matter much when Harry was wanking under the covers at the beginning of the movie, now did it?" Ron said, smirking.

"Ron!" Hermione said, aghast.

"Hey! I was not!" Harry complained. "I was trying to learn the _Lumos Maximus _spell. I thought it might be important this year."

Ron snorted in disbelief. "Whatever you say, Harry. In any case, neither of you has answered my question."

"What question was that?" Harry asked.

"Who the bloody hell is that guy?" Ron asked again, pointing to the mysterious new Gryffindor student.

"Him? Oh, I think he's the nephew of the cousin of the aunt of the best friend of Alfonso's next-door neighbor's dog walker. Or something like that. No one to be concerned with," Hermione explained.

Ron looked around. "Where's Dean? Shouldn't he be here?"

Hermione pointed to where Dean sat, near the back of the room. He seemed to be trying to speak, but for some reason was unable to form words. Ron turned back to Harry and Hermione, his face wrinkled with confusion.

"What the...?" he began

"I think he complained about the aforementioned horsemen," Hermione said quietly. "If you know what's good for you, you'll hush up and pay attention now."

Ron nodded slowly and turned his attention back to Professor Trelawney, who was chattering on inanely at the front of the classroom and showing no signs of continuing their lesson. Suddenly, she stood and announced, "I'm bloody starving. Does anyone have any cheesy poofs?"

Hermione sighed loudly. "No, Professor, but there seems to be a tin of biscuits on that table behind you, along with several stacks of teacups and what appears to be an assortment of herbal teas. You _do_ remember we're supposed to be reading tea leaves today, _don't you?"_ Hermione asked dramatically.

"Oh, good heavens. I almost forgot. Of course, of course," the professor mumbled. She hurried over to the table and popped open the tin of biscuits. She grabbed several for herself and began munching them as she passed the tin around to the students.

"Everyone come take a tea-cup and some tea. But we don't have any water..." the professor mused, and her gaze became unfocused again.

Hermione cleared her throat loudly and pointed at a steaming kettle on a trivet in the fireplace. Trelawney clapped her hands together, then waved her wand at the kettle and guided it along to pour water over each student's tealeaves.

"We'll just let those steep a moment. Are there any biscuits left?" Trelawney inquired hopefully.

Lavender passed the tin back to the professor, who took a few more biscuits and sat munching them while they waited for the tea to steep. Finally, she stood and brushed the crumbs off of her robes and announced the tea was ready.

"Drink up everyone! When you're finished, give the leaves a good swirl. Then open your _Unfogging the Future _textbooks and read each other's tea leaves while I see if I can't find a few more biscuits."

Trelawney wandered off in search of more munchies as the students finished their tea. Ron and Harry began swirling their leaves, but Hermione slammed her cup on the table as soon as she was finished.

"See anything? Ron asked after he traded cups with Harry.

"A long, dull year. You?"

"Some kind of wonky cross shape and what might be a bowler hat. So, you're either going to become the new Minister of Magic after Jo finishes book seven, or you're going to suffer, but you're going to be happy about it."

"That's the stupidest fortune I've ever heard," Harry said, laughing. "Although, becoming Minister of Magic would guarantee the suffering part."

Professor Trelawney drifted back towards Harry and Ron's table, smiling dreamily. She stopped short when she caught sight of Ron.

"My dear, your aura is all aglow. Are you in the beyond?" she asked excitedly, but then her shoulders sagged. "Oh, no, that's simply your hair. It's a very loud color, isn't it?"

Hermione snickered, but Ron didn't seem to think it was funny. He handed the cup to the Professor, who screamed as she looked into its depths.

"My dear, you have the Grim!" she exclaimed melodramatically. "Alas, poor Harry," she said, walking over to stroke Ron's hair. "I warned Albus that you were doomed, but he just wouldn't listen." She patted Ron on the head.

"You're a loony! I'm not Harry, _he_ is," Ron said, pointing.

The professor shrieked again. "My dear, you have the Grim!" she repeated, coming over to stroke Harry's hair instead. Harry shrugged her off in annoyance.

"What's a Grim?" he asked.

The strange boy in the back of the room piped up with a lot of boring nonsense about the Grim that no one really paid any attention to because they were all too busy wondering who the bloody hell he was, and before they knew it, class was over.

"I knew I shouldn't have listened to Percy. What kind of a git takes divination and _enjoys _it?" Ron asked.

"Um...a future Deatheater?" Harry pondered.

Ron shuddered in disgust. "It wouldn't surprise me. He's been on a power trip since the first time mum left him in charge when she went to the market. Anyway, I'm starving. I would swear someone had a lasagna stashed away in there, somewhere."

"Oh, honestly!" Hermione huffed impatiently. "It was oregano! She was burning oregano in the fireplace!"

"Is that what it was?" Harry asked. "I thought it was um, well, you know."

"No! It was oregano!" Hermione insisted. "The woman is too daft to know the difference! What an old fraud. I think I'll ask Alfonso if we can withdraw from this class. Arithmancy was much better. You two would get a lot out of it; you should take it instead."

"But, Hermione, you couldn't possibly have taken Arithmancy yet," Ron pointed out. "It's held at the same time that Divination is. You can't be in two places at once."

"Shows how much you know," Hermione snapped before stomping away. Ron watched her go.

"If you ask me, she's starting to believe everything Steve writes about her. Next thing you know, she'll be wanting a scar on _her _forehead," he said in sour voice.

Harry simply shrugged noncommittally. After they had walked a few more steps, Ron's stomach rumbled audibly.

"I've had enough. Let's go find something to eat," he said.

"Aren't we supposed to go to Potions now?" Harry asked.

"Nope," Ron replied. "Potions seems to have been cut this year. Guess even Alfonso thinks ol' Snape's a complete git."

Harry's face fell in disappointment. "Rats. I was really looking forward to skinning Malfoy's shrivelfig," he grumbled, recalling the tight, thin t-shirt that had set off Malfoy's well-defined physique quite nicely.

"Yeah. I was supposed to chop his roots, too," Ron lamented. "But don't worry, there's plenty of homoerotic subtext later in the movie."

The boys hurried of in search of sustenance.


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry about reposting the content from chapter 3 - my docs are numbered differently for some reason. This is the actual chapter 4.

A/N: For once, I don't think we borrowed (or blatantly stole) anything in this chapter. However, we probably still owe apologies to JK Rowling for taking such liberties. We refuse, however, to apologize to either The Director or The Script Writer. After all, we paid good money to see this movie. Twice. And we own a copy as well. Therefore we feel we have the right to take all the liberties and cheap shots we please. After all, they certainly did.

*****

Harry watched, puzzled, as Ron once again pulled out his mysterious sheaf of parchment. After studying it for a moment, he broke into a grin.

"All right!" he shouted. "We're supposed to be in the Great Hall next. Finally, we get something to eat!"

The boys grinned at each other and ran towards the Great Hall at top speed. To their dismay, the long tables were covered with books and parchments rather than heaps of steaming hot food.

"What the bloody hell is this?" Ron demanded angrily. "We never study in the Great Hall. Where's the food? Didn't anyone save us any?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Ronald. Do you know how difficult it is to film a scene with real food? It attracts flies, and after the first half-hour or so, it begins to appear completely unappetizing. Besides, it's terribly expensive. There simply isn't room in the budget."

"Of course there isn't," Ron replied. "After all, Mr. N'Sync over there has to have his weekly dye-jobs." He pointed to Malfoy, who, along with Crabbe, Goyle, and the as-yet unidentified New Guy, were lined up between the two tables, dancing in jerky choreographed motions that reminded Harry of spastic robots.

Judging by the growing crowd of hysterically giggling females (and a couple of males as well), Malfoy's still-missing arm didn't seem to be a deterrent to attracting admirers. Simultaneously, the boys all stopped dancing, arranged in various poses. Malfoy's lip curled into a sneer, causing several of his adoring fans to swoon. Harry felt a bit light-headed himself, and looked away for something to distract him. He gradually noticed that the students that were seated around him seemed to be watching him, as if waiting for something to happen. Unsettled, he leaned down to Hermione.

"Wouldn't you rather study in the common room?" he whispered.

In a low voice, Hermione replied, "In case you hadn't noticed, the common room is hardly large enough for anyone to be comfortable in this year." When Harry opened his mouth to speak again, she cut him off. "And don't even think about the library."

"Why not?" Ron asked.

To their surprise, tears welled up in Hermione's eyes. Harry elbowed Ron.

"What? I didn't do anything!" Ron protested.

"You must have said _something_ to make her cry," Harry insisted.

In response, Ron shook his head vehemently. "She was just talking about the library, and then...this," he said, gesturing towards Hermione, who was sobbing quietly into a handkerchief.

At that, the strange boy from Divination class leaned over. After glancing around the room furtively, he addressed Ron and Harry in a confidential tone.

"There is no library this year," he explained. "Mr. Cuaron auctioned off all of the books on E-bay."

"What? Why?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"Talking Shrunken Heads don't come cheap," the boy continued in a whisper. "That's black market stuff, you know." He glanced around the room again before continuing. "I've said too much. Both of you sit down. They can't start filming until you've taken your places."

Hermione honked loudly into her handkerchief, then folded it and dabbed her eyes. "I'm all right. It's for the best, I know," she said, sniffling quietly. Then she whipped out a compact and, after patting powder upon her nose, smiled brightly at Ron and Harry.

With a defeated groan, the boys joined Hermione at the table. Around them, the students began talking amongst themselves in low voices, and strange music seemed to emanate from nowhere.

Absently, Ron began singing softly to himself, "_Double, double, toil and trouble...."_

Harry and Hermione both looked at him strangely.

"Oh. Sorry," Ron said sheepishly. "Haven't been able to get that tune out of my head. It's driving me mad."

Harry nodded and returned to his books, only to be startled by a dramatic, husky-yet-nasal voice that rang out above the others at the next table. Malfoy had finally taken a seat and was being fawned over by a dark-haired girl Harry didn't recognize.

"Who's that?" he inquired in a whisper.

"It's Pansy Parkinson, of course," Hermione replied.

"Oh." Harry studied the girl more closely before continuing. "Are you certain?I would have sworn her hair was blonde," he said.

"Quite certain. She's the only Slytherin girl listed in the credits."

Hermione seemed to think this was explanation enough. Harry glanced over at Ron, who simply shrugged. Harry accepted the answer because, after all, Hermione was the cleverest witch of their age, therefore she must be right. His attention drifted back to the Slytherin table.

"Does it hurt terribly, Draco?" Pansy asked in a serious tone.

Malfoy looked at her oddly, and his eyes began to glaze. "What's the matter with your voice? You're usually simpering," he said suspiciously. "And what's up with your hair? Do I even know you? Who are you?" he demanded. "What have you done with the real Pansy?"

Ron groaned. "Here we go again. He's having a devil of a time adjusting to the changes in characterization." He leaned over and _thwapped _the blonde boy once again with the sheaf of parchment he carried everywhere.

Malfoy's eyes cleared, and he looked over at Pansy.

"Right. Where were we?" he asked.

Pansy leaned over to him and whispered something that Harry couldn't hear. Malfoy nodded and then straightened.

"Ahem. Of course it hurts, you silly bint. That oversized excuse for a chicken sliced my bloody arm clean off. I consider myself fortunate, though," Draco said

"Whatever for?" Pansy asked.

"Well, everyone knows chicks dig scars," Malfoy said knowingly. Crabbe and Goyle nodded in agreement as he continued. "I imagine they'll simply swoon over a missing limb, so I told Pomfrey not to bother reattaching it. I'll be fighting the women off with a broomstick," he finished gleefully.

"Or, he could just use the severed arm," Ron said, shaking his head as he turned back to Harry and Hermione. "What an idiot. Are we done here, yet?"

"No, we're not done here yet," Hermione replied indignantly. "I haven't even had my close-up. And I have some important foreshadowing to relay to the audience."

"Oh, right," Ron nodded. "Get on with it, then."

As Hermione opened her mouth to speak, she was drowned out by the clatter of horse hooves. Behind her, a ghostly rider cantered by on horseback, swinging a severed head with one hand while he clung to the reins with the other. Behind him, a headless knight appeared to be in pursuit. Furious, Hermione slammed her hand on the table.

"Those idiots missed their cue _again!_" she hissed. "They're supposed to ride by when Harry is speaking, not me. Alfonso is going to hear about this, believe me. My lines are the most important part of this scene! How else will the audience know that Buckbeak is _doomed?_" she demanded angrily.

"What are you _talking_ about, Hermione?" Harry asked. "They're not even supposed to _be_ here. The headless hunt isn't until Halloween. What in Merlin's name is going on around here this year?"

Ron nudged him. "Remember the note outside of Trelawney's class?" He gestured at the horsemen as they made another pass. "The director recruited them from book 2. They were cheaper than Sir Cadogan...no lines to say."

"But that doesn't explain..." Harry began, but Hermione interrupted him.

"Never mind Harry," she said impatiently. "I think we're about to get some bad news." She pointed at Seamus, who was waving a paper around madly.

"I have lines to say! I have lines to say!" Seamus called as he ran towards the group of students gathered at the middle of the Gryffindor table.

"Not anymore, you don't," Hermione growled as she snatched the paper from Seamus. She scanned over the words and gasped dramatically. "Sirius Black has been sighted near Dove Town. That's not far from here! But he couldn't possibly get into Hogwarts. There are dementors at every entrance!"

Neville glared daggers at Hermione. "That was my..." he began, but was unable to finish as his mouth was suddenly and inexplicably zippered shut. When Seamus opened his mouth to speak, it was zippered shut as well. All eyes turned to the strange and mysterious boy from Divination class as he spoke in an eerie and foreboding manner.

"It's like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands," he said ominously.

"Shut up, would you, you git?" Ron said angrily. "That doesn't even make any sense! And you're freaking Harry out!"

Harry nodded in agreement as his eyes fixed on the silently raving snapshot of Sirius Black. Meanwhile, outside, the flowers froze as the dementors glided across them, because everyone knows that flowers have just as many happy thoughts to steal as people do. Either that, or the dementors have taken to moonlighting as Jack Frost. In any case, you (the audience) are instructed to shiver with imagined cold and feel ever-so-slightly creeped out.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: As usual, I have ripped off from other works in the process of poking fun at PoA. In this chapter, I owe apologies to the Price is Right and the New Kids on the Block (but really, I don't feel apologies are in order as they came up with the terrible song in the first place and all I did was change one word), and to C. S. Lewis.

* * *

Soon enough, Harry and Ron found themselves en route to their first (and next to last) Defense Against the Dark Arts class of the year. As they ascended the staircase, they met Hagrid, who was struggling to carry a huge, mirrored wardrobe up the stairs. The boys immediately stepped in to assist him, using their wands to levitate the wardrobe to the next landing. Breathing heavily, Hagrid leaned against it and wiped the sweat off his brow.

"Thanks," he huffed. "That thing weighs a ton."

"Where are you taking it, Hagrid?" Ron asked.

"Perfessor Lupin's classroom. It was in the teacher's lounge, but that's bein' used as a makeup room, so Alfonso 'ad me move it, seein' as how Perfessor Lupin needs it for class today."

"Really?" Harry interjected. "What for?"

"S'posed to be a boggart in it, or somethin'," Hagrid explained. "I 'ad no idea boggarts was so heavy."

"Why didn't you just levitate it up the stairs?" Ron asked.

"'Cause they're using the blue screen today to film preliminary shots for the Quidditch Match, Ron," Hagrid snapped.

"What?" Harry asked, confused. "What does a blue screen have to do with Quidditch?"

He turned to Ron, who was shaking his head at Hagrid and making a sweeping motion across his neck with his index finger. A look of understanding dawned in Hagrid's eyes, and he nodded conspiratorially.

"Oh, I meant, uh, I'm not supposed to do magic, strictly speaking and all. You know that, Ron," Hagrid reminded him.

"Right, right," Ron said, nodding. "We'll help you the rest of the way, then, Hagrid." When Harry drew his wand, Ron stopped him. "No magic in the halls, remember, Harry? We're almost there, anyway. We can push it the rest of the way."

So they did just that. Hagrid helped them to arrange the wardrobe at the front of the classroom before he departed, muttering something about agents and unions as he left. Harry shrugged and took his place next to Ron, facing the wardrobe. They watched in the mirror as the rest of the students began filing into the classroom. To their mutual amusement, Malfoy, who was the last to appear, checked his hair in the mirror as Pansy Parkinson looked on, enthralled. Then, to the students' surprise, the wardrobe began rocking unevenly from side to side as loud thumping noises emanated from inside of it.

"Intriguing, isn't it?" the Professor Lupin drawled as he walked towards the front of the classroom.

"Oh, sure," Malfoy said snidely. "I've always found dusty old wardrobes to be simply fascinating." The Slytherin students around him snickered as the Gryffindors shot him withering glares.

Nonplussed, Professor Lupin continued. "Would anyone like to venture a guess as to what is inside?" he asked.

As Dean began to reply, Hermione spoke from just behind Ron's shoulder. "That's a boggart, that is," she said quickly.

"Dammit, Hermione, that was the ONE line I had!" Dean complained loudly.

"Sorry. Script change. Didn't Steve tell you?" Hermione said with a sweet smile.

"When did you get here?" Ron asked incredulously.

"Don't be silly, Ronald," Hermione said tiredly. "I've been here the whole time."

"No, you haven't!" Ron argued. We were just looking in the mirror and I distinctly saw that _you were not there._"

"Yes, I _was," _Hermione insisted.

"Look, you can't just appear during the middle of class and expect me not to notice. There are _rules, _Hermione. Even _I_ know that."

"_It's for dramatic effect, Ronald," _Hermione hissed angrily. "Do hush up. You're spoiling the scene!"

Ron rolled his eyes and looked towards Professor Lupin.

"I would ask if anyone knows what a boggart looks like, but that would be a waste of breath, now, wouldn't it?" the Professor said, looking pointedly at Hermione, who beamed happily.

"No one knows," she explained authoritatively. "Boggarts are shape-shifters. They take the form of whatever...."

"Yes, yes, whatever frightens a person most, and that's what makes them so terrifying," the Professor finished.

Hermione appeared incensed at having been interrupted, but she remained quiet while the Professor continued.

"Luckily, a simply charm exists to repel a boggart. Let's practice it now, without wands please. After me..._Ridikulus."_

As one, the class replied, _"Ridikulus."_

"Very good," the Professor said encouragingly. "Once more..._Ridikulus."_

Once again, the students chanted, _"Ridikulus."_

At the back of the room, Malfoy remarked, "This dialogue is ridiculous," earning further smirks and vigorous nods of agreement from his fellow Slytherins.

Without missing a beat, the Professor flicked his wand at Malfoy and said _"Waddiwasi." _

Out of nowhere, a large piece of ABC* gum flew towards Malfoy and plastered itself across his mouth, effectively silencing him for the moment.

"Hey, that's not in the script!" Hermione protested.

"No, it isn't," Professor Lupin agreed. "Neither is this."

Hermione's scream of indignation was abruptly cut off by a second wad of gum that affixed itself firmly to her mouth. She clawed desperately at the gum, but to no avail. The gum was stuck fast. Growling in frustration, she snatched a parchment and quill from her bag and scribbled madly for a moment. When she flashed the parchment at the professor, it read:

_I'm going to tell Alfonso and Steve!!!_

"You do that, dear," Professor Lupin said calmly. "You don't have any more lines in this scene anyway, and, unlike Hagrid, I am quite capable of instructing my class without your input".

With a last murderous glare at Professor Lupin, Hermione grabbed her rucksack and flounced off.

"Well then, shall we continue?" The professor asked. Behind him, the wardrobe continued to shake vigorously back and forth, and the door handle had begun rattling fiercely.

Mutely, the students nodded in reply.

"Very well," Lupin said cheerily. "Now, the trick to handling a boggart is to force it to assume a shape you find truly amusing. I'll need a volunteer. Who is going to be first?" he asked with a smile. When no one stepped forward, he scanned the group of students with a discerning eye, and selected a victim. "Neville Longbottom. Come on down!"

Warily, Neville crept towards the front of the group, eyeing the wardrobe with great trepidation. Around him, his classmates began snickering as they noticed his tattered clothing, which had been shredded during his encounter with the Monster Book of Monsters.

"Neville, mate, what are you wearing?" Ron asked, making little attempt to stifle his own laughter.

Neville rolled his eyes and answered shortly, "My uniform."

"Why didn't you ask the one of the house elves to repair it for you?" Harry asked, trying hard not to chuckle.

"They've been too busy laundering a certain someone's supply of pink jackets and hip-hugger pants. It was either wear this or go starkers," Neville complained. "I'm only a secondary character at best; we're not allowed more than one costume."

"And we thank you for not attending class in your altogether, Mr. Longbottom," Professor Lupin said, covering his own smirk with his hand. "Now, if you will, tell us what frightens you most of all?"

Neville mumbled something unintelligible.

"Sorry?" the professor said.

In a louder voice, Neville answered, "Professor Snape."

Around him, the students giggled once again, with the Professor joining in.

"Yes, he frightens us all," he answered.

I heard that.

Startled, Harry glanced around the classroom. He would have sworn he heard Professor Snape's voice, but none of his classmates seemed to notice the faint, but menacing growl. He shrugged and returned his attention to Professor Lupin, who had finished asking about Neville's grandmother's clothing and was now whispering in his ear. Neville nodded and then readied his wand.

"Ready?" the professor asked. "One, two, three."

The professor waved his own wand at the wardrobe, and the lock snapped open. Slowly the door swung open, and Professor Snape stepped out, glaring murderously at Neville and Professor Lupin. He was garbed in a long, lace-trimmed dress and a towering hat topped with a moth-eaten vulture, and hanging from the crook of his arm was a huge, crimson handbag.

Professor Lupin broke into a delighted grin. "Very good, Neville! I had no idea you were so talented at visualization. Ten points to Gryffindor! Ron, you're up next."

Harry watched expectantly as Ron took his place at the front and Neville moved to the back of the group of students. Strangely, nothing happened. Professor Snape continued moving menacingly towards Ron, until Professor Lupin jumped in front of him and shouted, _"Ridikulus!"_

When Professor Snape reached out and grabbed Lupin by the throat, the students gasped in shock, but Lupin just smirked, a knowing gleam in his eye.

"Well, well, Severus. Out of the closet at last?" he asked

Snape's eyes narrowed.

"The next time you ask that oaf, Hagrid, for a favor, Remus," he hissed, "I'll thank you to be more specific in your instructions. The boggart was in the _other_ wardrobe."

Angrily, Professor Snape shoved Professor Lupin backwards into the group of flabbergasted students. Assuming his most imperious pose, he straightened the vulture hat and brushed the dust off of his dress before stalking out of the classroom. As he passed the group of Slytherin students at the back of the room, they turned their heads in shame. The Gryffindors, meanwhile, appeared torn between horror and hysteria. As the door shut behind the departing professor, Lupin shuddered.

"I'll have nightmares for a month," he said. Let's get back to it, then. Ron, you're up!"

Ron turned to back to the wardrobe, which had mysteriously closed its doors. He drew his wand and mumbled, "Ready."

Harry reached forward and tapped Ron on the shoulder, "Umm, mate, wasn't the boggart in the other wardrobe? And how did the doors get closed?"

Ron shook his head and smiled wryly at Harry, "With the outrages that have already been committed, nobody's going to remember a couple of continuity slips."

Harry and Ron moved to fall into line as Professor Lupin walked over to the phonograph and gently set the stylus down upon a disk. A second later, something that could only loosely be called music burst forth from the speaker with a heavy, thumping beat. A sudden commotion at the back of the room caught Harry's eye in the mirror, and he turned to see Malfoy, Goyle, and the New Kid gyrating in unison to the music and chanting.

_"OH OH OH OH OH_

_OH OH OH OH_

_OH OH OH OH OH_

_The right stuff...._

_You got the right stuff, Hermy._

_Love the way you turn me on._

_You got the right stuff_

_You're the reason why I sing this song."_

Harry and Ron stared at the group in horrified amusement, then turned to the Professor for an explanation of what was magic of the darkest kind. The professor himself appeared confounded. He abruptly snatched the stylus away from the disk, making a loud _wowwing _sound that caused the students to wince.

Malfoy, Goyle, and the New Kid stopped dancing as abruptly as they had started. Malfoy looked around at several of the girls, who squealed in groupie-like glee as he smoothed his trendy new hairstyle with his hand and gave them a sneer.

Professor Lupin ignored the wannabe boy-band members and inspected the phonograph disk carefully before noticing a paper origami crane perched atop the cover of the player. Unfolding it carefully, he read aloud.

_Dear Professor,_

_I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of replacing your musical selection for today's lesson. I've always found the New Wizards On the Block to be so inspiring!_

_Love from,_

_Hermione Granger_

With a deep, almost canine growl, Professor Lupin waved his wand at the nearest window, which flew open with a bang. Without hesitating, he tossed the disk out of the window, watching it sail away with a satisfied smile. Several of the students, including Harry and Ron, stepped up to watch it drop gracefully into the Whomping Willow. The cantankerous tree casually swept one of its knobby limbs at the disk and shattered it into millions of pieces, which rained down onto Hagrid, who was toting the tree across the grounds.

"Sorry about that," Professor Lupin called down to his startled colleague. Hagrid waved him off, breathing heavily as he set the now frantically thrashing tree into the gaping hole he had prepared for it. The professor shut the window with a snap and instructed his students to reform their line as he once again started the phonograph. This time, peppy swing music spilled forth, and the professor grinned as he motioned Ron to step forward to battle the boggart.

"Take its legs off, take its legs off," he muttered to himself as the boggart (which seemed to have apparated outside the wardrobe on its own, seeing as how no one ever bothered to open the wardrobe door after Professor Snape made his grand exit) twisted and rolled before him until it formed an enormous spider.

"_Ridikulus!" _Ron shouted, pointing his wand at the spider. Suddenly, the spider was wearing roller skates, and Ron was wearing a perplexed look.

"That wasn't supposed to happen," he said, scratching his head. At that moment, another origami crane fluttered gracefully out of the sky. Ron groaned loudly, snatched it out of the air and handed it to Harry to read to the class.

_Legless spiders just aren't that funny, Ronald, and Mr. Cuaron agreed that my suggestion about roller skates would be much more amusing for the audience. _

_Love from,_

_Hermione_

_P.S. Mr. Cuaron also concurs that mummies evoke comparisons to B-horror movies, and would impugn his reputation as an artist. Therefore, Parvati's mummy has been replaced by something with cultural significance._

Harry and Ron turned to Parvati, who had stepped forward at Professor Lupin's urging to face the boggart. She was staring at an enormous, hissing cobra in confusion.

"I was going to unwrap its bandages," she explained sheepishly. "But I don't know what to do with this."

"Just do your best, Parvati, it will be fine," the professor encouraged.

Nodding, Parvati waved her wand at the snake and shouted, _"Ridikulus!"_

The shapeshifter rolled and twisted once more and morphed into a gigantic, bobbing Jack-in-the-Box with a hideous, demonic grin. Ron and Harry both paled, and Parvati appeared as if she might swoon. Several of the girls in the class screamed, as well as a few of the boys.

"Not much of an improvement, that," Ron said weakly. "Suddenly, giant spiders don't seem half as frightening. Giant Jack-In-the-Boxes, now, those scare the crap out of me."

Harry nodded and squared his shoulders, ready to take on the boggart himself. He walked up to the ugly clown and stared it down, his pasted-on smile gradually fading as the clown bobbed back and forth. Suddenly, it began twisting as it had before, until it became a balloon enshrouded by tattered black sheet. It proceeded to pull out a vacuum hose from beneath its rags and aimed it at Harry.

Shocked, Ron hurried over to the Professor and whispered harshly into his ear. Professor Lupin, who was busily combing his moustache in the mirror of the wardrobe,

glanced around to see Harry being threatened by a Hoover. With a cry of dismay, he jumped in front of Harry, arms spread wide.

Harry looked on curiously as the boggart transformed into what was obviously a full moon, complete with spooky clouds drifting across it. From somewhere in the room, he heard a faint _awoooo _noise. He thought it was coming from Professor Lupin, but before he could ask, the professor banished the boggart with a wave of his wand and a shouted, _Ridikulus!" _

The boggart became a white balloon, which flew around the room as it deflated with a sputtering noise.

"Class dismissed!" Professor Lupin called.

Harry stood stock still, wondering why Professor Lupin was afraid of the full moon, until Ron dragged him out of the room.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: In this chapter, we blatantly stole from numerous sources and therefore owe apologies to the X-men (or possibly Robert Aspirin, we can't decide), Monty Python (as usual), Michael Jackson (for those of you too young to recognize them, the lyrics to "Thriller" are in here, and it's relevant because of the video and if you don't remember it you just won't get it anyway so don't worry about it), Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure, Scooby Doo, the Wizard of Oz, possibly Men in Black, Xena: Warrior Princess, Angel the Series, and we reckon we owe apologies to certain 'shipping factions for poking merciless fun, but it's a parody...please don't take it personally. We'll likely make fun of our own 'ship in a later chapter as well.

PS: We feel obligated to include this disclaimer, since there are a couple of veiled marijuana references in this chapter. Drugs are bad, m'kay?

PPS: This chapter was originally written (and previously published at PhoenixSong) shortly after Jo did her infamous interview following Book 6, which included discussion about Hermione/Ron and Harry/Ginny that left half the fandom in an uproar. Keep that in mind when the anvils are mentioned.

* * *

The next thing Harry knew, it was time for the first Hogsmeade Weekend. It seemed to him rather odd that he couldn't remember going to any classes, but it didn't really bother him. Harry shrugged; that's what he had Hermione for, after all. She was in charge of all homework and thinking, unless said thinking had anything to do with Quidditch.

Hermione and Ron stood off to the side, and they seemed to have temporarily put aside their differences, as they were snogging madly while trying to pretend to be interested in Harry's plight. Harry had left the Dursleys' house in such a snit that he had failed to get his permission slip signed. Now it was up to Professor McGonagall to decide his fate. He handed his permission slip to the teacher, but she waved it away impatiently.

"Potter, you know good and well I'm not going to sign that form, so put it away. And don't bother me anymore about it. If you'll excuse me, I have to go and chaperone a date between a couple of hats."* And with that, she stalked away.

"Forget about it guys," Harry said flatly to Ron and Hermione. Hermione managed to pry her face off of Ron's long enough to give Harry a pitying look. She pushed Ron away and threw her arms around Harry.

"Oh, Harry, you know I'd rather go to Hogsmeade with you than with Ronald any day, but the producers are forcing me to go, I swear. And I'm only snogging him as practice for the day when you finally wake up and realize that I'm the girl of your dreams, honest. By the way, is my lipstick mussed? And how's my hair? Honestly, Ronald just can't seem to keep his hands out of it," Hermione finished gaily as she smoothed her hair and tried to wipe the lipstick smudges from her mouth. "Why don't you stand over there and look pitiful? It would make such a wonderful mood shot...you, alone in front a giant pendulum, slowly ticking away the minutes of your short and oh-so-tragic life. Omigod, Alfonso is such a genius!"

Harry didn't have a clue what Hermione was talking about, but he was becoming accustomed to doing everything Hermione said. For some reason, he didn't seem to be able to think for himself lately. So he followed her instructions, and as she blew him a kiss and flounced off with Ron, he went to stand alone in front of a giant pendulum (which he didn't recall being there before). Sadly, he watched his two best friends abandon him, and attempted to look as pitiful as possible, until they were out of sight. He would have sworn he heard Hermione say to Ron as they left, "Don't worry, sweetie, you know I only said it to make him feel better. You're the only man for me, Ronniekins."

Then, even though he hadn't yet taken the first lesson in apparition, he _bamfed_ over to the formerly non-existent dilapidated bridge across the formerly non-existent chasm, where Professor Lupin was waiting for him.

"Lily?" the professor asked hopefully, but Harry shook his head.

"No, it's just me, Professor," Harry said.

"Oh, Harry. Sorry, I was captivated by your eyes. You know, the first time I saw you, I recognized you straight off."

"Because I'm the spitting image of my Dad, right?" Harry said wearily.

"Of course not. I recognized you because you have Lily's eyes...they were like glowing emeralds. Every time I gazed into them, I felt as if I were falling...."

Harry squirmed uncomfortably. "Aren't you getting ahead of yourself, Professor?"

"Oh, yes, of course. Where were we...oh, yes. I shall read your mind, Harry, because we are pressed for time, due to the number of extraneous scenes inserted into this travesty of a film that have nothing to do with the story but were considered charming and appealing to the audience. So...you want to know why I didn't let you face the boggart, right?"

"Um, not exactly...."

"Isn't it obvious, Harry? Even a lackwit such as yourself should be able to figure this one out. I thought the boggart would turn into Voldemort!"

"Except that it totally didn't! It turned into a Dementor while you were standing there combing that dead rat under your lip and prancing about to that stupid music. That thing was just about to suck my face off!"

"Oh, well, that's neither there nor here, Harry. The important thing is that in picturing the Dementor, you've realized that the only thing you have to fear is fear itself."

Harry cocked his head to one side. He knew that sounded familiar...but thinking about it made his brain hurt.

"Aren't you the smart boy," the professor continued, but Harry interrupted.

"Professor, there's more. Before I fainted, I heard my dad."

"You mean you heard Lily."

"Well, her, too, but I think it's more important to you that I heard my dad, isn't it? Weren't you friends at school?"

"Honestly, Harry, I don't know where you get your information from. There's nothing in the script that says I knew your dad. I knew Lily. In fact, if it weren't from some bloke named James (and what a jerk that guy was), I might have married her, you know, and then we could have had little wolf cubs together. Just think, Harry...you might have been my own, dear son. And look, she gave this to me once, for my birthday." The professor pulled open the collar of his shirt and revealed to Harry a black, leather collar studded with metal points all the way around. "Cool, isn't it?"

Harry recoiled in horror and did his best to change the topic. "But Jo said..."

"Never mind what Jo said. Now, look, you've wasted all the time I had to wax poetic about Lily and how she was the kindest, most special, most beautiful witch I've ever known. Talented, too, especially with her hands, if you know what I mean, wink, wink, nudge, nudge. Aroooooo...."

Harry looked at the professor closely. Unless he was gravely mistaken, the man had just emitted a wolf howl. Furthermore, the closer he looked, the more the professor appeared to be...changing, in front of his very eyes. His ears seemed to be growing slightly pointed, the nails of his fingers had lengthened considerably, and there was a great deal of hair sprouting in places that didn't seem quite _natural_ (the dead rat under the Professor's lip notwithstanding).

"Professor, are you quite all right?"

"Erm, no," Lupin replied in a strangled voice. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named seems to have overlooked the fact that unless I have my medication every month, I tend to get a little, uh, wild. Excuse me, Harry, but I've really got to be going, now; you're looking tastier by the moment."

And with that, Professor Lupin dashed away. Harry was left wondering why Voldemort would be concerned about a professor's medication. As he began the long trek back across the formerly non-existent dilapidated bridge across the formerly non-existent canyon, he would have sworn he heard faint strains of music. Listening carefully, he was able to discern the lyrics.

'_Cause this is thriller, thriller night  
And no one's gonna save you from the beast about strike.  
You know it's thriller, thriller night.  
You're fighting for your life inside a killer, thriller tonight!_

"I must be hearing things," he thought, and he proceeded to the grand staircase to wait forlornly for Ron and Hermione to return. Upon their arrival, Ron quickly filled Harry in on their adventures, and handed him a circular object covered by a glass dome with a small black ball inside.

"What's this?" Harry asked.

"Dunno," Ron replied, shrugging. "A stage hand gave it to me and asked me to give it to you before this scene started."

"It must be something really important, Harry. You'd better hold it just so," Hermione said, adjusting his position so that he was standing holding the object in front of him at waist level. "There, that's better. Oh, would you look at this dreadful coat they gave me to wear? The color isn't even remotely flattering. I never wear brown. And you can't even see my Pink Jacket of Grrrl Power!"

Hermione pulled out her wand, waved it at her coat and muttered a charm that Harry was positive they hadn't learned yet. Hermione's ugly brown coat disappeared in a _poof_ of smoke to reveal a pale pink zippered jacket with a hood.

"Hermione, wasn't that a banishing charm? We don't even cover those until book four. And where do you get off doing magic in the corridors, anyway? It's against the rules," Ron reminded her. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Technically, Ron, this is a staircase, not a corridor. There's nothing in _Hogwarts: A History _that says we can't perform magic on the staircases. Besides, I have a special dispensation from Alfonso. Now, isn't that better?" Hermione asked brightly, indicating her pink jacket and fluffing her hair. Harry caught sight of a round, purple bruise on her neck.

"Hermione, did you get stung by a billywig?" he asked, pointing at the bruise.

"Of course not, Harry. Those are native to Australia, where would I possibly have run into a-" Hermione trailed off as she saw Ron shaking his head frantically over Harry's shoulder, and her eyes widened in realization. "Um, I mean, yeah, I must have. I think Professor Sprout keeps them to pollinate the honking daffodils."

Harry shrugged and looked up towards the portrait of the Fat Lady, where a crowd of students was gathered.

"What's going on?" he wondered aloud.

"Probably Neville's forgotten the password again," Ron replied, smirking.

"I'm standing right here," Neville said plaintively from behind Ron.

"Oh, sorry, mate. Didn't see you there."

"It's okay. At least it gave me an excuse to say something. If I'm not mistaken, that was my last line."

"Yes, well, we all have to make sacrifices for the greater good, not to mention the profit margin," Hermione said, patting his shoulder and then gently pushing him back. "By the way, you're spoiling the composition of the shot. Your mark is there."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, appearing confused.

"Well, it's important that you and I are standing together on the stairs, in front of Neville and Ron. That way, we appear to be equals, not to mention better than everybody else. Then, when Jo gives us our big love scene in book seven, all the Harry/Hermione 'shippers can point and say, "We told you so."

"But I thought you and Ron..."

"Yes, well, at this point, we really can't be sure, so the directors and the producers and the scriptwriter are hedging their bets. So, more fun for me!" Hermione said gaily as she hooked her arm through Harry's. "Oh, and I think you can put that away, now, Harry," she said, gesturing towards the dome-shaped object Harry still held before him.

"But I don't even know what it is yet. And you said it must be important!" Harry reminded her.

"Whatever. Oh, look, there's Percy!"

At the top of the staircase, Percy was elbowing his way through the crowd of students gathered in front of the portrait. Hermione pushed her way up the stairs to meet him.

"Let him through, he's the head boy! Come on now, you lot, budge up and make room for the head boy! And get away from that portrait! The dormitory has to be searched before we can go in!"

Percy swung his head around towards Hermione, his mouth gaping open. She shrugged and smiled.

"Script change," she explained sweetly. Then she arranged her facial features into a look of shock and dismay. "The fat lady—"

Hermione's voice stopped abruptly, though her mouth was still working as if she were speaking. Her hands flew up to her throat, and she opened her mouth wide in an apparent scream, but still no sound came out. Then a blaze of long, flowing, fiery red hair appeared, its owner pushing her way through the crowd of students as she tucked her wand into her pocket.

"The fat lady, she's gone!" Ginny Weasley announced.

All around, the portraits erupted into a cacophony of voices and animal calls, while the students gasped in fear and shock. All except for Hermione, who was glaring murderously at Ginny, still mute. Furiously, she whipped out her own wand and waved it at the younger girl, though to no effect.

"Don't bother," Ginny said. "Wordless magic isn't covered until sixth year." She stepped closer to Hermione and said in a low voice, "That was my one line in this entire movie. Did you really think I'd let you get away with stealing it?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes at Ginny, but remained mute. Ginny just smiled.

"Don't worry, I'll release the jinx in a moment. First, I have some business to take care of."

She stepped down a few steps to where Harry and Ron had been watching the entire exchange.

"Ginny, where have you been?" Harry asked. "This is the first time I recall seeing you since the Leaky Cauldron."

"It's the strangest thing. Right before we boarded the train, I was kidnapped by a flying ship full of wild-eyed, screaming banshees wearing sailor suits with the letters H/Hr or H/L emblazoned on the front. I think there were even a few with H/D and H/R, too. They said I was evil and must be stopped at all costs."

"That sounds terrible!" Harry said, patting Ginny's arm sympathetically, for reasons unbeknownst to him. It was almost as if there were some mystical force, pushing him to her, accompanied by a strange growl from the region of his chest, which he immediately dismissed as hunger pangs. After all, he hadn't yet had his nightly ration of animal crackers.

Ginny beamed. "Worse than you can imagine. After they kidnapped me, they steered the ship out into the ocean. I lost track of the days, because they kept me locked in a cage and the only thing they would feed me was pumpkin pie. Can you imagine anyone making _pie _from _pumpkins? _Disgusting. And I was _so _bored! They wouldn't give me anything to read but religious tracts...something about the Philosophy of Harmony. Oh, and a few of them tossed me issues of some crazy magazine called the Quibbler."

"However did you get away?" Harry asked, concerned that his poor Ginny had been treated in such a vile manner.

Ginny lowered her head and spoke in a near whisper. "That was the strangest part. Just a few days ago, the sky started raining anvils."

"Anvils?" Harry and Ron asked simultaneously.

"Yep," Ginny replied, nodding. "Big, black ones. They punched holes in the deck of the ship, all the way to the bottom. I think some of them hit a few of the banshees, too. I thought I was a goner. But then a blonde lady Apparated into my cell and said she was Jo Rowling and she was there to rescue me. And then we Apparated here."

Hermione's eyebrows rose, and she quickly scribbled something on a parchment and held it up for the other to read.

_But you can't Apparate into or out of Hogwarts!!!_

"Uh, Hermione, this is Jo we're talking about. It's her universe...she can do anything she bloody well wants," Ron said in a low voice. Hermione's response was to sigh loudly as she rolled her eyes.

"Never mind all that, anyway. We have more important things to discuss," Ginny said as she pulled Harry and Ron to one side. " Have either of you noticed that Hermione is acting peculiar, lately? Even more so than usual?" she whispered to them.

Harry simply shrugged, but Ron nodded.

"Yeah. Then again, being suddenly vaulted into the role of Super Heroine is bound to do a number on anyone's ego," he said bitterly.

"I think it's more than that, Ron. I'm just not sure what. In any case, stay on your toes. Strange things are afoot at Hogwarts Castle. Oh, and Harry, before I go...."

Ginny leaned over, grabbed Harry's face and planted a loud, wet smack upon his lips. Then she turned back to Hermione.

"Don't think I don't know what you're up to, Missy. I've got my eye on you!" she said, brandishing her wand at Hermione in a gesture that reminded Harry of Mrs. Weasley. "You can't have them both, you know! This is not that kind of movie!"

"It would be if You-Know-Who could get away with it," Neville said with a snicker.

Ginny laughed along with Neville and then waved to Ron and Harry. "Bye, Harry. See you at the World Cup!" As she descended the staircase, she waved her wand back at Hermione.

"Well, I never!" Hermione fumed. "Just wait until Alfonso hears about this!"

"There's no time, now, Hermione. We still haven't finished this scene," Ron reminded her in an exasperated tone.

"Fine," she snapped. "Where were we?"

Ron pulled out the mysterious sheaf of parchment he had been carrying since they'd boarded the Hogwarts Express. Hermione leaned over and consulted the text.

"Ginny said the fat lady was gone," she said, pointing to a line.

"Oh, right." Ron cleared his throat before continuing. "Serves her right. She was a terrible singer."

All around them, the portraits continued to move about agitatedly. The Wicked Witch of the West was seen zooming from frame to frame, while a skeleton bobbed around inside a portrait of several men in neck ruffs, for reasons unapparent to anyone. Poor Sir Cadogan brandished his sword in a portrait on the wall behind Harry, but then was dragged off by a couple of mysterious men in black suits and dark eyeglasses. Xena the Warrior Princess was making her trademark ululating screech, though Harry was unable to identify just what portrait she appeared in.

Finally Professor Dumbledore climbed the stairs, followed by Argus Filch. They examined the Fat Lady's empty portrait frame, which had been viciously slashed.

"Mr. Filch, call the Scooby Gang. Perhaps they can shed some light on the disappearance of the Fat Lady. Besides, Shaggy owes me a toke or two," he said with a vague giggle.

"That won't be necessary, you doddering old fool. The fat lady's there," Filch said, pointing upwards.

The students rushed up the staircase because it seemed like the thing to do. Percy was nearly trampled in the stampede, as no one was paying attention to his cries of, "But I'm Head Boy!" Meanwhile, a giant giraffe strolled through every portrait on the wall. The Fat Lady was finally spotted standing behind a hippopotamus in a jungle scene.

"Dear lady, who did this to you?" Professor Dumbledore asked. "I've been trying to shut you up for months, and I really must thank the fellow responsible. Do you know how many requests for relocation I've received from the portraits around you since you replaced the lady in the pink dress?"

"Oh!" the fat lady exclaimed, shocked. "I'll have you know I'm a classically trained opera singer. I've performed at the greatest venues in portraiture. I've appeared with the most divine tenors ever to grace the canvas. Now do you want to hear about Sirius Black, or not?"

"Oh, well, I suppose we had to get around to it eventually, what with Arthur Weasley's spooky speech to Harry at the beginning of the movie. Do tell. But first, you might want to straighten the shrubbery upon your head," Dumbledore indicated with a nod and a wink.

The fat lady ignored Professor Dumbledore and instead screeched, "Eyes like the devil! Sirius Black is in the castle. Doom! DOOM!!!"

Then the giraffe, which happened to be strolling by, ate her hat. Er, shrubbery.

Dumbledore turned to the caretaker and announced imperiously, "Secure the castle, Mr. Filch."

Filch nervously stroked Mrs. Norris and replied, "But what about Professor Lupin? It's a full moon tonight, you know, and, judging by the howling, I'd say he's gone on a short romp about the grounds, looking for a snack."

"Professor Lupin can fend for himself," Dumbledore assured him. "My primary concern is the children. Now, say no more. Evil's still afoot, and I've almost lost my buzz. Quickly, to the Great Hall. Away!!"

As he uttered these words, a huge door at the main entrance (new and improved this year) closed and barred itself, while the dementors hovered spookily nearby, all of which took over twenty-five seconds of valuable screen time that could probably have been put to better use elsewhere in the story, say, perhaps to explain who made the bloody map which hasn't appeared yet. However, that is neither here nor there.

The students traipsed down to the Great Hall and slept in purple sleeping bags, all except for Harry, who decided it would be an opportune time to eavesdrop. He overheard Professor Dumbledore consulting with Filch, Snape, and a short wizard who was not supposed to be Flitwick (even though he was) about the fruitless search of the castle. Then Snape made thinly veiled accusations about just who might have let Sirius Black into the castle (cough*RemusLupin*cough), and this chapter is already long enough without trying to find a way to make this scene funny. Dumbledore quickly shut him up and then babbled some nonsense about dreams and sleep under the pretty spectacle of galaxies and nebulae on the charmed ceiling of the Great Hall.

After all, plain old stars just aren't good enough for You-Know-Who.

* * *

*Footnote: If you're wondering about the date between two hats, you'll want to read Trystym's "Harry Potter and the Singing Professor." Maybe one of these days he'll get around to finishing it, if I ever complete the guest chapter that he claims is preventing him from doing just that.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: You know the deal by now. We've blatantly borrowed from too many places to count, but we managed to catch these, at least: Pac-man, Anne Rice, Bram Stoker, Alvin and the Chipmunks, HP fan theories (we're not really sure exactly who is responsible), Lord of the Rings, Terry Pratchett, and Mary Poppins.

PS: I seem to have misplaced the final copy of this chapter. This one still had beta-comments in it. I think I caught all of them, but please do let me know if you see anything that appears to be out of whack. Well, the entire story is whack, but you know what I mean.

PPS: I remember now why I stopped posting at for several years. The document editor and code stripping is really a pain to deal with.

* * *

The next day, when Harry woke up, it was Autumn. He knew it was Autumn because outside of Gryffindor Tower, Harry could see the Whomping Willow (Hagrid had been requested to relocate it yet again for this particular scene) shiver and drop every single leaf all at once (the entire process taking another 20 seconds of valuable screentime that could have been used to explain, oh, just WHY exactly there is a glowy deer standing stock still across the pond from Harry later in the movie, but that is neither here nor there). Then the vicious tree bashed a bluebird into a million fragments just for spite, because the authors of this fic failed to mention that infinitely important incident earlier in this story. What are ya gonna do, sue them for inattention to detail?

Ahem.

Even though he was starving, because he had only eaten one animal cracker the previous evening, Harry skipped right over breakfast in order to attend Defense Against the Dark Arts with Ron. Hermione was yet again conspicuously absent. To Harry's surprise, Professor Snape swooped into the room in a batlike manner and promptly proceeded to bar every single source of outside light from the room while simultaneously applying SPF 100 sunblock.

"What is this?" Harry whispered loudly to Ron. "I thought you said we didn't have Potions this year?"

"Beats me," Ron whispered back, bewildered. He pulled out his mysterious sheaf of parchment and began leafing through it, but to no avail. Meanwhile, Professor Snape was being trailed by two house-elves, each carrying a huge, lumpy sack overflowing with letters.

"Please, sir," one of them huffed, "What is Inky and Pinky to be doing with these?"

"Burn them," the professor snapped rudely. "They're not mine."

"But the owls is delivering them to you," Inky or Pinky insisted, not to be deterred from his mission. "They must be yours."

Harry leaned over and retrieved one of the letters, which seemed to have been liberally doused with a spicy perfume as well as kissed by the owner numerous times, judging by the lipstick marks on the back. Flipping the letter over, Harry saw that it was addressed to someone known as "The Brat Prince". Mystified, Harry scooped up several others and noted that they were addressed to "The Vampire Lestat," "Dracula," and "Vlad Tepes," among others. He handed them to Ron, wondering if he could make sense of them.

Ron read over the names and stifled a giggle. "I think someone's confused. Lestat opens for the Weird Sisters sometimes, but he's blonde. As for Dracula, last I heard, he was on a book tour."

Harry raised his eyebrows. He'd heard of Dracula, of course, but he'd never dreamed he actually _existed._

Ron noticed and nodded vigorously. "Oh, yeah. He's written a self-help book called _B Positive: The Vampire's Guide to Self-Actualization in the New Millennium_. It was on the bestseller list for sixteen weeks."

"So, those women think Snape is...a vampire?" Harry asked.

"Guess so. Y'know, it makes sense, when you think about it," Ron said thoughtfully. "He always wears black, he's awfully pale, and have _you_ ever seen him in broad daylight?"

"Of course. He's been at the Quiditch matches," Harry replied.

Out of nowhere, an origami crane came fluttering down to hover in front of Ron, who rolled his eyes as he snatched it from the air and ripped it open. It read:

_Ronald,_

_Please refrain from confirming speculation about Professor Snape's possible vampire nature. If you were any good at Divination, you would know that Jo effectively squashes that theory in an interview on July 16, 2005._

_Love from,_

_Hermione_

_P.S. I **told** you Divination was rubbish._

Ron made a noise of disgust and pointed his wand at the unfortunate crane, which had refolded itself and was now fluttering desperately to escape him. Quietly, he whispered _incendio, _whereupon the poor crane went up in a small ball of flames.

"Can I help it if You-Know-Who is responsible for feeding that particular theory with this scene?" he grumbled.

As Ron brushed the ashes from his desk, Harry noticed that the room had grown extremely quiet. When he turned to face the front, he found Professor Snape glaring at him, having dispatched the elves with their letters.

"If Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley will focus their attention to the front of the room, perhaps we can get on with it?" he growled. Turning, he yanked on a cord that sent a projector screen unfurling and snapped, "Turn to page 394."

The Professor began stalking towards the back of the room. As he passed by Harry's desk (which NO ONE ELSE was currently sharing with him), Harry slid to the other side and asked, "Excuse me, sir, where's Professor Lupin?"

"That's not really your concern, is it, Potter?" the Professor replied silkily. Somewhere, in the background, a distinct, girlish sigh could be heard, followed by a thud that resembled a body collapsing to the floor in a swoon, but when Harry glanced around, he noticed nothing awry.

"Suffice it to say that it's that time of the month for your Professor, and he finds himself incapable of teaching at the present time, though I hardly think it possible he could be any more incompetent than any of the other twenty-seven days of his lunar cycle." The professor gave a disdainful sniff and continued walking to the back of the room as Harry slid back to the side of the desk nearest Ron.

"Is he trying to say that Professor Lupin is really a woman?" Harry asked his friend in confusion. Ron stifled another giggle, which turned into a cough.

Professor Snape rolled his eyes and repeated, "Turn to page 394." He pointed his wand at Ron, whose book flipped itself over to the proper pages.

"Werewolves?" Ron asked.

"But sir," Hermione piped up from Harry's side, where she had been so obviously missing before, "we're supposed to be learning about vampires today. It's in the lesson plan, I have it right here..." she trailed off, rummaging through her rucksack.

"Quiet," the Professor warned.

"Where did she come from?" Ron demanded. "Did you see her come in?"

Harry shook his head, just as confused as Ron. Hermione ignored them both, but Ron refused to drop the matter.

"This isn't the way it happens in the book! You're supposed to _dis_appear when we aren't looking _after_ class, not pop up in the middle of class and claim you've been here the whole time when obviously you haven't. That doesn't make any sense!" he insisted angrily.

"_Dramatic effect, Ronald, dramatic effect," _Hermione hissed with a pointed glare towards him. "Don't you know anything about filmmaking?"

Ron exhaled loudly and turned his attention to her book. Hermione immediately raised her hand, even though Professor Snape had not yet asked the class a question. He let out a loud sigh, then asked, "Can anyone tell me the difference between an animagus and a werewolf?"

Hermione shook her hand frantically, but Professor Snape ignored her. "No one? How disappointing," he said in a bored tone.

Hermione finally gave up and spoke without being called upon. "Please, sir, an animagus is a wizard who elects to turn into an animal. A werewolf has no choice."

"That is enough," Professor Snape began, but Hermione continued to blither on, reveling in her moment in the spotlight. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Ron leafing through his mysterious sheaf of parchment, muttering something about cloves and cannons, which Harry didn't understand in the least.

"With each full moon, when he transforms, he no longer remembers who he is. He'd kill his best friend if he crossed his path. Furthermore, _the werewolf only responds to the call of its own kind,"_ Hermione finished, with a significant glance at Harry.

A sense of foreboding invaded Harry, and when he looked down, he noticed his skin was covered in goosepimples. Somehow, he _knew_ that the information Hermione was imparting would turn out to be important in the future, but he was damned if he knew why.

"Aroo," Malfoy howled in the desk across the aisle. Next to him, Crabbe, or Goyle, Harry could never remember which, chortled with forced laughter.

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy," Snape said, doing his best to hide a smile. Then he turned to Hermione with a sneer. "That is the second time you have spoken out of turn, Miss Granger. Are you incapable of restraining yourself, or do you take pride in being an insufferable know-it all? Five points from Gryffindor."

Hermione looked pointedly over at Ron, as if waiting for him to say something. Ron simply shrugged, leaned over and said, "He's got a point, you know."

"Ronald!" Hermione gasped indignantly. "That's not what you were supposed to say. You were supposed to come to my defense!"

Ron smirked. "Hey, if you can be wildly out of character in this ridiculous production, then I can, too, so deal with it. You can't have it both ways, you know."

"That's what you think," Hermione replied slyly. "I've seen the script for the execution scene and I get to be the middle of a trio sandwich!"

"You're joking," Ron said, looking a bit green around the gills. "There's no way Jo would condone something like that. Doesn't You-Know-Who realize how volatile 'shipper wars can be? That would be like casting an _incendio_ spell in a room full of detonating dandelions!"

"Check the script," Hermione said smugly. She gave Ron a saucy wink, and then slid her hand onto Harry's thigh. Harry, who had been caught in the middle of the entire conversation, couldn't decide if he was slightly intrigued or slightly revolted.

As Professor Snape turned back to the projector screen, Harry caught something white and fluttering out of the corner of his eye. He turned to see Malfoy blowing an origami crane in his direction with what was either a malevolent or salacious grin – Harry couldn't decide. Harry deftly caught the crane, then realized that Snape was assigning them homework for the weekend. He was incensed; none of the professors had assigned homework since third year had begun, and besides, there was a Quidditch game that weekend, which he promptly pointed out to his nemesis.

"But sir, it's Quidditch tomorrow. How can we party afterwards if we have to worry about homework?" he whined.

Snape swooped over and thrust his face a few scant centimeters from Harry's.

"Then I suggest you take extra care, Mr. Potter," Snape said in a low, sensuous voice. Harry was astounded when Snape proceeded to give him a wink before he stood and began lecturing about werewolves. Harry was left to ponder why, all of a sudden, the Professor seemed strangely appealing, and even somewhat concerned for him, after more than two years of venom and loathing. He briefly considered hanging back after class, but then he remembered the crane Malfoy had sent him, and opened it. It was a questionnaire, the kind he used to receive on rare occasions during primary school. It read:

_**Dear Harry:**_

_**I like you. Do you like me? (check one)**_

_Yes....... No...... Maybe...... I don't know......_

Harry's first impulse was to mark a huge X beside "No." But then he glanced over at Malfoy, who raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips into a kiss across the aisle. Harry took note of the blonde boy's shaggy hair, far more attractive than the slicked back style he'd worn for the past two years. And he had to admit that Malfoy's eyes were an unusual and most alluring grey. Despite the fact that he had never shown any inkling of being interested in boys, he marked "Maybe," and continued reading.

_**If no or maybe, then who do you like?**_

Harry pondered this question for a moment before he began writing.

_Ginny Weasley. _

Harry thought for a moment and then scratched that out. She was only twelve, still a little too young. But give her a couple of years and he'd be on her like...uh, well, yeah. We won't go there, this is a family-rated story, after all.

Ginny Weasley

_Luna Lovegood_

No, wait, that was no good. Harry remembered he hadn't met her yet, so he scratched through that name, too.

Ginny Weasley

Luna Lovegood

_Hermi..._

Harry scratched that name through without even bothering to complete it, thinking, "_No, no, no! 13 years old is way too young to be pigeon-holed by thousands of 'shippers into a cold, passionless, transcendentally "platonic" romance void of lust, sexual tension or physical attraction with someone who could at most only ever be a mother-substitute. Ah, screw it._

Ginny Weasley

Luna Lovegood

Hermi...

_Cho Chang. At least she's hot._

Vaguely satisfied with that answer, Harry read on.

_**Will you go to the Yule Ball with me?**_

Harry shook his head. And the readers said _he_ was clueless.

_Dumbarse...that's not 'til next year!_

Finally, Draco had signed the note and completed it with an animated drawing of Cupid firing arrows into a stick-figured Harry, who then ran to a stick-figured Draco and planted a torrid kiss (or at least as torrid as possible for stick figures) onto his lips.

_**Draco and Harry 4-evah! Meet me after the Quidditch match tomorrow behind the changing rooms for a snog.**_

Harry rolled his eyes. This was too ridiculous even for him to consider, and he couldn't fathom why he even bothered to finish reading the note in the first place. He didn't swing that way, and it was beyond him why Draco thought he might. He crumpled up the note, and then felt a curious pulling sensation behind his navel, and realized the note must be a Portkey, even though he wouldn't use one of those for the first time until Book 4. He closed his eyes and fought against the nauseating swirling sensation, then opened his eyes again to see that he had been transported to the Quidditch Pitch, where it had begun pouring down rain.

Harry shrugged and proceeded into the Gryffindor changing rooms to don his Quidditch robes. They were newly hideous this year and emblazoned with his last name across the back, along with the number seven, for reasons unbeknownst to him. After he finished dressing, he discovered the rest of the team waiting expectantly for Oliver to give them his usual pre-match pep talk. Instead, an origami crane appeared from out of nowhere and fluttered to Oliver, who gulped loudly as he opened it and began reading aloud.

_Dear Mr. Wood,_

_We regret to inform you that your services as Quidditch Captain are no longer needed, due to budget cuts and reallocation of valuable screentime to Hermione Granger's close-ups and vitally important monologues, and to superfluous artsy scenes such as the one to follow depicting an umbrella caught up in the storm for a lengthy ten seconds, which is highly symbolic of the turmoil in young Harry's life._

_Please return your Quidditch robes and broomstick to the Wardrobe and Props departments promptly. Furthermore, inform the rest of the Quidditch team (with the exception of Mr. Potter) that their scenes have been cut because Mr. Lucas has commandeered the blue screen for most of the next three months in order to complete the final installation of the Star Wars saga, and we are required to deliver it to him by six o'clock this evening._

_Besides, everyone knows that Harry Potter always catches the snitch, so the rest of you gits aren't needed in this film. Your salaries are being used to pay the Unknown Gryffindor._

_Sincerely,_

_The Director, aka You-Know-Who_

Tears welled up in Oliver's eyes as he choked out, "But...but...what about the Quidditch cup? This is my last year as captain...my last chance."

An addendum appeared at the bottom of the note.

_Sorry, mate. Winning the Quidditch cup has absolutely nothing to do with The Director's vision of Harry's coming of age. Tough luck._

_SK_

Oliver collapsed to a bench, which had been conveniently placed behind him, and hung his head. Suddenly, the flaps of the tent were thrown open to reveal a gaggle of females of all ages holding protest signs with slogans such as "Reinstate Oliver!" and "Down With the Director!" They swarmed over to Oliver and caught him up in their midst. Several of them patted him consolingly, and Harry was certain he heard someone mention the word "petition." Dejectedly, the rest of the team followed him out, and Harry was left standing alone in the Quidditch tent, or so he thought.

"What are you waiting for, Harry?" Hermione asked at his elbow. "Didn't you hear what was in the note? We've only got the blue screen for a few more hours, so you need to get moving!"

Harry didn't bother to ask how Hermione had arrived without his noticing, and instead walked out of the tent and onto the Quidditch pitch, where he stopped short and drew in a deep breath, shocked.

Scattered across the field in the opposing team's positions were what appeared to be seven dementors mounted upon small dragons. Harry wondered for a moment if he had fallen asleep in the middle of class, for this was surely something out of a nightmare.

"Hermione, pinch me," he mumbled.

"Whatever for?" Hermione asked.

"Because either I'm dreaming, or there are dragons on the Quidditch pitch."

"You're not dreaming, Harry," Hermione said reassuringly. "That doesn't happen until just before the match with Slytherin, which we don't get to see in this movie. No, this is real."

"Huh? Who the...where the...there are no dragons in Quidditch!" Harry sputtered in disbelief.

Ron had appeared at Harry's other elbow. "Actually, they're not dragons, Harry, they're Fell Beasts, which are a type of wyvern." Ron piped up. "You can tell by the distinctive markings under their...."

"Shoosh!" Hermione interrupted, with a warning glance at Ron. "That's not important right now, Ronald. Harry, Alfonso thought it would be much spookier if the Dementors could fly. And, as we're on a tight schedule with the blue screen, and everybody knows that dementors don't have wings, we decided to kill two birds with one stone."

Harry shook his head, unable to Harry asked, unable to reconcile the concept of Quidditch with dragons. "I don't understand. Do you mean that the Hufflepuff team gets to ride dragons?"

Hermione laughed. "Of course not, Harry. You're playing the Minas Morgul Ring Wraiths!"

"You're pulling my leg," said Harry. "What do they have to do with Dementors?"

"Well, with the black robes and the deep hoods, you can hardly tell the difference, can you?" Hermione pointed out in a tone that implied Harry was daft for not noticing.

"But Hermione, they can't play Quidditch. They're _undead!" _Harry hissed, eyeing the nearest hooded figure, who was casually twirling a large, spiked mace and sporting a matching helmet.

"Harry, that's an extremely vitalist remark," Hermione chided. "You _do _realize that the undead have to support themselves too, don't you? They've been out of work ever since principal photography wrapped on the Lord of the Rings trilogy, so Alfonso picked them up on the cheap. Besides, the fell beasts have to eat. The poor things were nearly starving!"

Unnoticed by Hermione, one of the Minas Morgul players had wandered close enough to them for his mount to take a vicious snap at Hermione, coming within centimeters of removing her head. She let out a startled scream and jumped back, hiding behind Ron.

"Um, good luck Harry. We'll be watching you from, uh, over there," Ron gestured towards the stands. "From _waaay _over there." He threw his arm around Hermione and together they backed away slowly, their gazes never leaving the Fell Beast, which was still eyeing them hungrily.

"Oh, wait, I almost forgot," Hermione said. "Look, up there!"

She pointed up to the sky, and Harry and Ron followed her gaze to see a large, black umbrella being buffeted about by the wind. It tumbled and twirled, dipped and swayed, and narrowly avoided being struck by lightning at least twice. Harry couldn't help but feel that it was he up there, being pummeled by the relentless storm, tossed about by the whim of fate.... He glanced down and saw a young woman wearing a dark overcoat running across the field, apparently in pursuit of the umbrella, all the while singing "Just a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down!" Then she stopped short and swore profoundly as she shook her fist at the umbrella before resuming her pursuit. Harry heard a distinct _click_ and glanced back over at Hermione to see that she was holding a stopwatch.

"Ok, that was long enough to get the point across. Let's go, Ron. Good luck, Harry!" Hermione called before she and Ron turned and ran back to the stands to join their fellow Gryffindors rooting for Harry.

Harry took his place alone on the Quidditch pitch and waited for Madame Hooch to release the Quaffle, signaling the beginning of the game. Across from him, the mace-wielding Ring Wraith he had noticed earlier was fighting to reign in his fell beast, which was chomping in Harry's direction. After several long minutes, Dumbledore wandered out on the field, giggling sheepishly.

"So sorry, I forgot. Madame Hooch is no longer employed by Hogwarts due to budget cuts, so I guess it falls to me to begin the game. Now, where did I put that chest...?"

Two house elves scampered out onto the field, pulling and tugging the Quidditch chest between them.

"Ah, Blinky, Clyde, over here, if you would," Dumbledore called cheerfully. The elves struggled to reach the center of the pitch, where they deposited the chest at Dumbledore's feet.

"Hmm...what is it Hooch usually says?" Dumbledore mused, stroking his beard. "Ah, yes. Now, I want a nice, clean game!"

And with that, he threw open the chest. The Bludgers barreled out first, followed by the snitch, then Dumbledore himself tossed the Quaffle into the air. Harry ignored it and shot away in pursuit of the snitch, followed by the mace-wielding Ring Wraith.

Meanwhile, Dumbledore was taking his own sweet time ambling off of the Quidditch pitch.

"Damn if I don't have the worst case of the munchies," he muttered aloud, searching his robes for the handful of biscuits he had squirreled away after his "meeting" with Professor Trelawney earlier that morning. Nearby, the two house-elves' eyes grew large and white, and to the spectators it appeared they turned a deep shade of blue before running off the field as fast as they could go.

Harry witnessed none of this, however, as he pursued the snitch in the driving rain. Moments after the game began, he crossed in front of one of the Minas Morgul players. Its reptilian mount heaved a mouthful of fire towards Harry, which he dodged to escape. Alas, not quickly enough, however, for the tail of his broomstick blazed up.

_I don't remember this in the script, _thought Harry.

_It's not in the script, Harry. Remember, all of the other players were fired, so this scene had to be altered somewhat._

_Huh? Who is this? How did you get this number?_ Harry wondered, as he shot skywards, his broomstick still aflame.

_It's me. Hermione._

_WHAT?_ Harry thought, looking towards the tail of his broom to see if Hermione had come along for the ride. He distinctly heard a charming, girlish giggle.

_Oh, Harry, don't be silly. I'm in the stands with Ron. I'm communicating telepathically! It's one of my new Super!Powers, along with Super!Strength and the ability to State the Obvious. It's in my contract now; I get at least two new Super!Powers with each movie._

_Oh. Well, then, do you think you could do something about my broom?_

_I can't from here, but swing by and I'll see what I can do._

Harry nodded, even though Hermione couldn't see him from that distance, and guided his broom in front of the stands. As he passed Ron and Hermione, the chanting of the entire Gryffindor class faded into the background as Hermione's lone voice piped up, _"Aguamenti!"_

A fountain of water sprang forth from Hermione's wand and doused the flames that were now threatening Harry's backside, despite the fact that the sky was pouring buckets. Ron stared at her, agog.

"You can't do that. That's a sixth year spell. Jo hasn't even mentioned that spell in this book!" he insisted.

"Honestly, Ronald," Hermione huffed. "Haven't you realized yet that the movies have precious little to do with the books, or for that matter, parodies? It's always that way with Hollywood. You've got to have the hero, the heroine, and the comic sidekick. It's a proven formula! And, as the heroine, I'm entitled to special privileges. So deal with it!"

Ron rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the game, muttering under his breath. Harry had nearly caught up to the mace-wielding Ring Wraith with the matching helmet, and both were reaching desperately for the golden snitch, fluttering just out of reach. Higher and higher they flew, until finally Harry managed to draw alongside his rival, close enough to see the name "Witch King" emblazoned across the back of his black robe, along with the number "1".

"You fool. No man can kill me," the Witch King growled at him menacingly. "And you won't catch the snitch, either!"

He twirled the mace about in a circle and took a swipe at Harry, missing by a hair's breadth. Harry ducked and rolled to avoid it, causing him to fall a few meters behind. With an evil cackle, the Witch King reached for the snitch once more, only to be struck by lighting the instant before his fingers grasped it. He froze, blue lights danced in and out of his helmet and up and down the ball and chain of his mace.

"You really should have known better than to wear a metal helmet in a thunderstorm, you git. Buh-bye, now!" Harry called, waving gleefully as his opponent tumbled backwards along with his Fell Beast. Then, something strange gave him pause, and he peered carefully off into the distance, where a distinct shape was forming in the clouds. It almost looked like...indeed, it was!

"I see a puppy dog!" Harry said with a huge grin. "And look, over there, it's a bunny rabbit!"

While Harry took time out of the game to ponder the shapes in the clouds and what they could mean, three of the Minas Morgul Ring Wraiths surrounded him, preventing his escape.

Harry finally came to his senses and realized there was nowhere left to go but up. And up, and up, and up. The Ring Wraiths soon caught up, each of them wielding vacuum hoses with which they proceeded to try and suck off his face. In the distance, Harry thought he heard a woman screaming, but he couldn't be certain over the roar of the Hoovers. He grew dizzy and disoriented from the presence of the dark-robed figures, or it could have been from general oxygen deprivation due to the elevation, as he was now well into the stratosphere (which would also account for the sudden icing of his ugly goggles and his broomstick handle). In any case, he lost his grip on his broom and plummeted back to earth in a death spiral.

Meanwhile, Professor Dumbledore and Professor Trelawney were huddled together under a poncho in the stands, giggling profusely as their colleagues and distinguished visitors tried desperately to wave away the fragrant smoke that persisted despite the driving rain. With a snort of disgust, Professor McGonagall poked him mercilessly with her wand.

"Albus? Albus?" She called. When he didn't answer, she whacked him atop the head and shouted, "ALBUS!!!"

"O-kay!" Professor Dumbledore replied in a high, squeaky voice, doffing the poncho as he pointed his wand up towards the rapidly descending Harry. "Arresto...um, arresto, oh, posh, slow down already!"

Of course, nobody saw what happened after that, because a mysterious darkness fell over the Quidditch Pitch, the better to leave the moviegoers at the edge of their seats.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: As usual, I've probably blatantly ripped off material from not just the Prisoner of Azkaban book and film, but also from various other sources, including, but not limited to, Pac Man. It's probably safe to say that if you recognize it, I borrowed it. There is one film referenced in here that was being shot when I originally wrote this chapter - approximately four years ago. My, how time flies. _

_PS: This is it...the latest and greatest. With this chapter, I've caught up to the point at which this has been posted at PhoenixSong. I do have another chapter in the pipeline already, which I expect to submit to my beta within the week, so stay tuned, and other chapters plus the end have been sketched out. I promise not to go away for another four year stretch - having a baby tends to distract one from writing fanfiction.  
_

* * *

Harry awoke to the sound of voices around him, but he couldn't see a darn thing, as everything was pitch black.

"OMG, I'm blind!" he screamed shrilly.

"Don't be silly, Harry. Your eyes are closed," Ron said nearby in a tired voice.

"That's not in the script, Ronald," Hermione began, but Ron burst in angrily.

"Hang the bloody script! What, I'm supposed to say he looks a bit peaky? Bugger that! Of course he looks a bit peaky! His insides were nearly splattered all over the Quidditch pitch because that barmy excuse for a headmaster was too busy doing his best impression of a chimney to pay attention to the bloody match. Why do I always seem to lose about 50 IQ points in these bloody pictures, anyway?" Ron stormed, then he noticed Hermione was ignoring him completely. She had pulled out a compact and was checking her hair and makeup. "And you, aren't you supposed to be upset? Our best friend nearly died. Shed a tear or something!"

Hermione snapped the compact shut and aimed a frosty glare at Ron. Harry couldn't actually see it, because he had yet to open his eyes, but he could hear the icicles in her gaze just the same.

"That would spoil my mascara, Ronald. I have a close-up in this scene. It wouldn't do for me to have raccoon eyes," she replied with a haughty sniff. Ron shook his head and rolled his eyes heavenward before slowly beating his head against the infirmary wall. Fred stopped him.

"Save your strength, mate. We're not even an hour in. Wait 'til you see what happens at the Shrieking Shack," he said with a sympathetic shake of his head.

Harry moaned in confusion. His head hurt again, and he couldn't shake the distinct impression that everyone around him knew something he didn't. The mattress on his hospital bed sank as a warm, female form settled in next to him, close enough that he could feel her breath on his face.

"How are you feeling?" Hermione purred in his ear. Harry yelped in shock as he felt her hand slide slowly from his knee up his thigh, until it was suddenly removed.

"Ouch, Ronald, that hurt!" Hermione cried. Harry opened his eyes to find Hermione shaking her fingers, as if they were sore.

"Wha...what happened?" he asked fuzzily.

"Stinging Hex," Ron replied through gritted teeth as he glared at Hermione. "This is still a family film, after all, no matter what You-Know-Who would like it to be."

Harry shook his head. "No, I mean, what happened at the match. Did we win?"

"No way! You blew it big time, Harry. But nobody blames you," Hermione assured him in an unconvincing voice.

"Hermione! Why would you say something like that?" Ron demanded. "That's just going to make him feel worse."

"I'm not sure I could feel any worse," Harry moaned. "Where's Wood?" he asked, noticing that Fred and George and Angelina were the only team members at his bedside. He hoped their captain wasn't taking the loss too hard.

Ron appeared stricken. "He's, um, oh, well, he's around somewhere," he said nervously, glancing over at a still form draped with a sheet lying prone on the bed next to Harry's. He coughed loudly and nudged George, who swiftly drew the curtain between the beds as Ron threw a bundle of twigs at Harry. He glanced pointedly at Hermione. "This is really supposed to be your job, you know."

Hermione waved him away. "It's funnier if you tell him. You're the comic relief, remember? I'm in charge of dramatic moments."

"Ha ha. Really funny, that," Ron replied sourly.

"What?" Harry asked. "What's so funny about a bundle of firewood?"

"That's not firewood, Harry," Ron replied "That's what's left of your broomstick."

Harry gasped in shock, reaching tentatively towards the ill-fated Nimbus 2000, but drawing his fingers back at the last minute. He dared not touch it, for fear of splinters. "What happened?" he asked in a choked voice. "It looks like the Whomping Willow mistook it for a bluebird."

"No, mate," Ron said, "the Whomping Willow has been moved to Hogsmeade. You-Know-Who thought it would make a nice backdrop for the next Hogsmeade weekend."

"Then what did this?" Harry asked, noticing for the first time that there were bits of printed paper mixed in with the broken bits of broomstick. He fished several bits out, on which only the words "Chapter 11" and "Firebolt" were discernable.

George stepped up. "After you fell, your broom sort of kept on going, and it fell into Hagrid's chipper-shredder. Steve Kloves needed some mulch for his rosebeds, and since Hagrid has precious little else to do in this film, he's taken to doing odd jobs on the side."

"But this is terrible!" Harry felt as if his heart had been shredded into pieces along with his broomstick, it had become that much a part of him. "How will I play Quidditch? What about the Cup? This is Oliver's last chance to win, I mean, what with the tournament next year," he said brokenly

"That's all right, Harry, I don't think Oliver is going to be too worried about it," Ron said, glancing at the sheet-draped form that was hidden by the curtain. "Besides, there's only ever one Quidditch match per film anyway, and you've got the big 'Hippogriff of Lurve' scene coming up."

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked. He didn't have a clue what Hippogriffs had to do with love. Riding Buckbeak hadn't been one of the most pleasant experiences of his life; he wasn't in a rush to repeat it.

"Oh, it's so romantic, Harry," Hermione broke in with a girlish squeal. "We get to ride Buckbeak together! It's a totally pivotal scene...it sets up our big romance for the next books! And I'll be screaming my head off, but that's just a metaphor for, well, you know," Hermione paused, blushing prettily. "So, of course, Quidditch had to be canceled for the rest of the year to make room. Besides, no one wants to watch a three-hour children's movie. Kids just don't have that long an attention span. The fact that today's youth can spend hours at a stretch in front of a video game is completely beside the point." Hermione checked her watch. "Oh, I've got to run. I'm due in wardrobe. They want me to wear this hideous maroon and gold scarf and hat in my next scene. I think pink would be much prettier, don't you?" She flashed a huge smile. "See you at the Shrieking Shack!"

Harry waited until Hermione had exited the infirmary before turning back to Ron. "Have they really canceled Quidditch for the rest of the year?"

"Yeah, Harry," Ron said. "We were angry at Hermione in that chapter, she only shows up on two pages. And since she's Kloves's favorite character, well, there's no way he was going to write that many scenes without her. Of course, he did try to compromise at first."

"How?" Harry asked.

"He was going to write Hermione onto the team. Angelina, no, maybe it was Katie...oh, well, they're all expendable as far as You-Know-Who is concerned." Nearby, Angelina, who had remained completely silent throughout the entire exchange, emitted an impatient snort. Immediately, klaxons and alarms went off. Two house-elves burst into the infirmary and pointed at Angelina. Harry thought they were Inky and Pinky, but they could have been Blinky and Clyde. One snapped his fingers ominously. A length of rope and a large kerchief appeared out of nowhere, and before Angelina could move, she had been magically bound and gagged.

"You are to be coming with us, miss," Inky, or perhaps Blinky said. "The master will be having a word with you."

Angelina's eyes grew large as saucers, and she tried desperately to scream, but to no avail. She turned to Fred and George, as if to plead with them, but they both paled and backed away.

"Sorry, Angelina, but we can't help you," Fred said, watching the house-elves warily. "We just got back ourselves from...

George clapped his hand over his twin's mouth. "Don't say it. He might be listening, and I won't go back there again. I can't."

Fear coursed through Harry's body as a swirling portal opened up behind Angelina. She tried to hop away (which was difficult as her legs were bound tightly together from hip to ankle) but Pinky, or maybe Clyde, pushed her towards the shimmering disk. It sucked Angelina in, and the house-elves jumped in after her. They each reached for one side of the portal and then snapped it shut behind them.

Harry's terrified gaze fell on the twins, who seemed to be paralyzed by their own fright.

"Don't ask. It was horrible," George said. "We won't speak of it. Ever." Next to him, Fred nodded vigorously.

"But, why?" Harry began, when an origami crane _popped_ into existence before him and fluttered gently to his lap. He unfolded it and read aloud:

_Henceforth, there shall be no changes to the script by non-billed characters without the prior approval of The Director, The Script-writer, or Hermione Granger. This includes vocal emittances of any nature, including snorts, gasps, sputters, and squeaks. Any further attempts to steal screen time away from Hermione will be handled appropriately by the aforementioned entities._

"Oh bloody hell," Ron grumbled. He snatched the crane from Harry and tossed it on the floor where he gleefully stomped on it several times. The crane fluttered its crumpled wings pitifully and then was still. Satisfied, Ron continued his explanation.

"Anyway, one of the Chasers was going to have an accident. Hermione was going to be a last-minute replacement, except she refused to do it."

"Why?" Harry asked, bewildered. He couldn't imagine anyone turning down a chance to play Quidditch.

Ron shook his head in disgust. "The ruddy uniforms. Hermione said she'd only play if they changed the uniforms to pink...the maroon clashes with her complexion. Thank God Jo put her foot down."

Harry nodded, repulsed by the thought of pink Quidditch uniforms. An uncontrollable shudder ran the length of his body.

"Oh, look at the time. You're late for your scene with Lupin."

The next thing Harry knew, he was walking through the forest with his DADA professor.

"Um, why are we here?" he asked. "Shouldn't we be in class?"

"Really, Harry, who wants to be cooped up in a dreary old classroom? Besides, here we can be _alone."_

Harry sidled a few steps away from his professor, glancing at him warily. "You have a serious pedophile vibe going, did you know?"

"I know," the professor agreed. "It's the moustache. Can't be helped."

"Um, you could always shave it off..." Harry suggested.

"Can't do that. You-Know-Who wouldn't like it."

Harry wondered yet again why Voldemort cared a fig for anyone's personal grooming habits or wardrobe. Seeing that he was hopelessly distracted, Hedwig flew by and cuffed him sharply with her wing.

"Ouch!" Harry cried. "You know, you've been a right pain the arse this year. Grumpy old bird."

"Your mother used to say that to her owl," the professor began, but Harry interrupted him.

"That's nice, Professor, but I needed to ask you something."

"Your mother used to say that too."

Harry rolled his eyes. He was becoming increasingly uncomfortable, and the forest seemed to be growing dimmer by the moment. He decided to get to the heart of the matter. "Why do the Dementors affect me so? Is it because I'm..."

"Weak? No, no, no, Harry. You've experienced horrors that are unimaginable. In fact, your mother used to say...

"Yes, yes, but back to the Dementors, there has to be something I can do. I wonder...what would Hermione do?"

Just then they were interrupted by the sound of someone crashing through the brush. Harry caught sight of a pink jacket being closely followed by a shock of red hair.

"I'm telling you, Hermione, I've read the script and you are positively, absolutely not in this scene," Ron insisted as he and Hermione approached Harry. He was gesturing wildly at the mysterious sheaf of paper that he had been carrying around.

"You obviously don't have the latest changes, Ronald. I'm in every scene from here on out. Besides, Harry needs me. You heard what he said."

Both Harry and Professor Lupin watched Hermione expectantly. She paused for a moment and smiled gloriously. A mysterious glowing shimmer seemed to surround her, highlighting the golden tones in her warm, chestnut brown hair that curled perfectly about her shoulders. Her cinnamon brown eyes sparkled with cleverness, and Harry thought he could detect the faint sound of angels, or perhaps fairies, singing soft praises in her name.

Ron made faint retching noises as a glazed look came over Harry's face, and he said, "Gosh, Hermione, I never realized how beautiful you are. Where have you been all my life?"

"I've been right here waiting for you to notice me, Harry. After all, I've always got the answers you need. Getting rid of the Dementors is very simple. All you have to do is think happy thoughts!" Hermione said brightly.

"But that's not right. That's a completely different movie!" Ron protested.

"Don't bother me with details, Ron," Hermione replied impatiently before turning to Harry. She sidled alongside him and whispered in his ear so that Lupin and Ron couldn't hear what she had to say. Harry's face turned crimson.

"Um, no thanks, Hermione. I think I can figure out my own happy thoughts."

Hermione flipped her hair. "Don't be such a prude, Harry. It's in all the best smut-fics. And sometimes Ron is there, too!" she added, with a smoldering glance at the redhead in question.

"Erp," Ron croaked. "Uh, I gotta go, uh, take care of something. Be right back!"

Ron disappeared with a loud _crack_.

"We haven't covered Apparating yet, have we?" Harry pondered aloud.

"Of course not Harry, but your mother, now there was a woman who knew how to Apparate," Lupin piped up in a dreamy voice.

Harry shook his head in exasperation. "Whatever. Look, would you just agree to teach me how to defeat the Dementors, already? The sooner this conversation ends, the better. It's already stretched on far longer than the author of this ridiculous parody intended."

"Of course, of course. But it will have to wait until after the holidays. For now, I need to rest."

"What for?" Harry asked.

"Well, you see, Harry, I spent countless hours in makeup yesterday for the werewolf trial run. Very taxing to sit perfectly still while rubber appliances are glued to your face and body."

"Huh?" Harry said blankly. "What are you talking about?"

Hermione interrupted before the professor could answer. "We'd better get inside now, Harry," she warned.

Harry looked around warily. "Why, what is it? Aragog? The centaurs? Voldemort?" He glanced around wildly in an attempt to spot whatever danger was coming their way.

"No, it's just that it's about to be winter, and we're not properly dressed."

At that moment, Hedwig flew by, struggling mightily to pull behind her a huge stage backdrop painted heavily with falling snowflakes. Finally, she let it clatter to the ground with a loud "thud" and squawked loudly at the three humans.

"I'm sorry Hedwig, but I don't understand," Harry said, bewildered. As if by magic, an envelope appeared in Hedwig's claws, which she dropped into Harry's outstretched hands. She then flew away in a huff.

When Harry opened the mysterious missive, it read:

I didn't sign on to be set decoration or lug around scenery changes, and it's too bloody cold around here. My agent just contacted me about a movie being shot on location in sunny Florida that's chock full of social conscience. And I might even get to meet Jimmy Buffet! I'm outta here.

Harry stared after his owl in hurt silence, and Hermione patted his shoulder consolingly. "Don't worry, you'll see her again soon."

"You think she'll change her mind?" Harry asked hopefully.

"Well, no, but they've already filmed the scene where Ron is going on about tap-dancing spiders, and she's in it," Hermione explained. "Let's get inside, I'm freezing."

As Hermione walked towards the castle, Harry and the professor dutifully trudged behind her through snow that was now at least a foot deep. Behind them, the lake had frozen over, and when Harry glanced back, he would have sworn he saw Dementors gliding across its surface clad in glittery tutus and spandex tights, but he knew he must be mistaken.


End file.
